


Star Fallen

by Autumn_Ignited, SailUncharted



Series: The Sorcerer and His Dragon [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Battle Couple, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Cults, Dragon Keith (Voltron), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mage Lance (Voltron), Religious Guilt, Shit is getting REAL, Witch's Familiar Keith (Voltron), we're on the friends to lovers part now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Ignited/pseuds/Autumn_Ignited, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailUncharted/pseuds/SailUncharted
Summary: You can learn a lot about someone in six months or so, especially when your souls are tied together at the root. Lance and Keith, having overcome a particularly rocky start for a mage and his familiar, have settled down into their routine in the Deepmist Forest. Their little cabin is remote, safe, and most importantly, private, allowing them to explore the newer aspects of their relationship outside of the disapproving eyes of the Magerium. Their peace is short-lived, however, when forces beyond their kingdom’s borders begin to stir, throwing the two of them into the middle of a war they have no choice but to fight if they want to be together.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: The Sorcerer and His Dragon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637872
Comments: 51
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book 2 is here!
> 
> Autumn: I’m so stoked to get back to this story. Everything we write has a special place in my heart, and I do think we get a little better every time, a little more cohesive, a little more polished. While we have an entire draft of this book written, thanks to your encouragement and input, Book One veered so far away from where it was that we have to rewrite it from scratch! And that’s honestly awesome, because it’s a much tighter story now, and we’re better storytellers for the practice. Thank you so much for your support, your comments, and for waiting so patiently.
> 
> Sail: Welcome back! We hope that you'll continue to enjoy this world as we plunge back in. I've really missed this story but I'm glad we were able to get Pink Like Spring out and finished. I've really needed some fantasy break and just some magic in my life, so I hope it'll bring that for you as well<3
> 
> Cover art by: [Allexche](https://www.instagram.com/allexche_art/?igshid=1ovha9lnqz4os) I'm screaming its so good! and she's so sweet to work with!!!
> 
> Like what we do? Let's hang out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> We'd also love for you to join our community [if you can](https://www.patreon.com/AutumnWaters)

~🍄~

Everywhere the snow touched, it burned. 

With every flake, he could feel it growing; all his hatred, all his frostbitten fury, turning his blood into ice water. It made the air around them shiver, like the last warning before the fatal crack and shatter of an avalanche.

Lance should’ve known. Potions were his life; he  _ should have known.  _ All the signs had been there, from the Dusk Silt all the way down to the salt. Glaringly obvious in retrospect, and yet he’d been too blind, too wrapped up in his own troubles to even care. And now -

Keith’s body shuddered in his arms as he gasped, each strained inhale desperate and labored. What little breath he managed to suck in rattled in his lungs like chains against a dungeon floor. 

“La-” Keith started, but his words were overtaken by gurgling in his gullet and a hacking cough. Fresh blood splattered the front of Lance’s tunic. 

He could see exactly how far the poison had gone; it laced its way up the chords of Keith’s neck and stained his gold eyes with black. The usual glint and mischievous shine of them was gone. 

Lance traced Keith’s face with frozen fingers as fresh tears fell to melt the snow on Keith’s cheeks. 

“I love you more than the stars and all the Goddesses who reside in them.” Lance’s voice was shaky, and he wasn’t certain Keith could even hear him. “And I will rip them all down from the heavens to save you.”

Keith’s whole body convulsed as pain tore across the bond and bored into Lance. He squeezed his eyes shut through the onslaught. It was agonizing, unspeakably so, but it wasn't death throes - not yet. 

Keith whimpered and curled in on himself.

He had to move quickly. 

“I won’t let them get away with this.” Lance held Keith close, trying to ignore the bruise-violet veins sticking out from his pallid skin. “I swear to you…” 

Every word cast frost across his lips. The temperature dropped and the stone around them trembled as it was overtaken with crackling sheets of ice. 

His eyes flashed open and his vision went white.

“I  _ will  _ make them suffer, Keith - every last one.”

~🍄~

**Three Months Earlier**

**Autumn**

Summer faded slowly in Highmount, but it crashed to a halt in the Deepmist - or so his dragon said. 

Keith hated getting wet - that Lance already knew - but he hated it even more when it was cold. The mist thickened as the days marched into fall and with it grew Keith's sour mood. He practically refused to drag himself out of their cabin before dawn to do chores. 

That was why it was so unusual to wake up alone in their bed, cold without his furnace of a familiar.

_ Their  _ bed, specifically. As in, the bed they both shared. 

Sort of. 

In practice, at least. Keith had forsaken sleeping in the fireplace below for curling up nightly at the foot of the bed, keeping Lance’s feet warm and vibrating the mattress with his rhythmic snoring. 

Keith had started sharing his bed because it was getting colder, but they both knew it ultimately had less to do with the weather and more to do with  _ other things  _ that were blossoming between them. 

Lance buried himself under the covers to hide from everything those  _ other things  _ entailed - the kind of things that Lance only let himself think about in the dead of night. Things like how, if he was really going to go through with this - if Keith was worth defying the goddesses for - then it was time to take their relationship to the next level. 

Officially courting Keith; his familiar, his first true friend, the person who, even before their bond was mended, had taken up permanent residence in his heart.  _ Officially courting Keith _ , as the goddess Nelare intended, meant a Letter of Nine. Oh stars, the covers weren’t helping. Lance pulled his shirt over his nose, hiding even deeper. 

It didn’t work.

Up the stairs, through the comforter, and even his shirt, Keith’s voice still found him. 

“Breakfast,” he called, in a tone that sounded like Keith would rather be covered in spiders than awake. 

No, he wasn’t ready. Squeezing his eyes shut, Lance took a couple of deep breaths.

He’d never written one, but he knew the basic format. ‘ _I love you with the passion of Nelare’s flame. Like Mairo’s hearth, you are my home. My love is as infinite as Hoile's stars,’_ and so on. But to send such a letter to his own familiar, a love the holy Nine condemned, would be sacrilegious. 

And what would Keith care of the Goddesses? Even if Lance’s love  _ was _ as infinite as Hoile’s stars, Keith would see the letter as just another strange quirk of Lance’s beliefs. He would have to write it in such a way that it accurately conveyed to Keith the same things it meant to Lance. 

He groaned as Keith called for him again. Couldn’t he have some time in the morning to hide from his thoughts in peace? 

Kicking off the covers, he stared up at the ceiling, not yet willing to leave the sanctuary of the bed. Rosy dawn poured over the windowsill and painted the thatched roof amber between the sturdy beams. Lance traced the wood with his eyes as it cut across the tinted straw.

A Letter of Nine; it was scary  _ and _ exciting. They would be as official as they could be, considering the circumstances. What had happened at the pool had only made them true Mage and Familiar, but they were more than that.  _ Keith  _ was more than that.

Hefting himself out of the plush mattress, Lance strode downstairs with determination. He could do this. He was going to write it…

...As soon as he figured out what to write.

The idea was a little less scary when he found the object of his early-morning crisis. 

Keith was huddled up in the fireplace instead of over the stove, opting to fry their eggs by just cradling the skillet in his lap. His hair, as usual, was a complete mess, his tunic was clearly on inside-out, and he was glaring at their breakfast as if it had called him names. 

When he heard Lance come down, he turned his groggy attention from eye-shaming their fried eggs and pointed to the table.

“Tea,” he said gruffly. 

Lance sat on the edge of the chair, back straight and feet crossed primly at the ankles. The sleeve of his untied shirt slipped down his shoulder, which detracted somewhat from his propriety, but it was a  _ special day.  _ The least he could do was treat it with the gravitas it deserved.

Lance sniffed at his tea. Ginger and terra root;  _ ugh.  _ Tea like this was his least favorite part of bidding the summer farewell.

Lance swallowed down a thick mouthful before addressing the obvious reason for Keith moping among the embers. Well, besides the cold damp. “No word from Shiro and Adam then?”

Keith shook his head. “Not yet. Still out of the country, I guess.”

“Soon”, Lance reassured. “They’re probably caught up in negotiations. I’m sure we’ll get a letter or unplanned visit any day now.”

“I’m going to remember this the next time they pester me about not writing enough,” Keith sulkily told his eggs. 

“Mm,” Lance hummed as he tried to keep his face neutral through the mossy tea. “I’m sure the eggs are very intimidated.”

The glare Keith sent him was toothless; his hair was too much of a mess for him to be more frightening than, say, a very angry kitten. The only known dragon in Belwald, and he couldn’t even brush his own hair this early in the day.

“I’ll burn yours,” Keith shot back. 

Lance tried not to smile. “Shiro will write soon. If he doesn’t I’ll find him myself and force a quill in his hand, okay?”

Keith grunted but nodded his assent. 

Lance took another tentative sip of his tea. It burned his throat and went straight to his nose, the taste falling somewhere between wet dirt and paprika. He grimaced as he forced the liquid down. “Awful,” he muttered at the mug.

“Tea is definitely on the list,” Keith agreed. Rising from the fireplace, he slid two eggs onto a waiting slice of bread and set the plate in front of Lance. “Eat. I need to double check the cart, especially if we’re leaving room for all the extra nonsense you’re sure to buy.”

Lance pouted down at his egg. “They aren’t useless things. You just always get the bare minimum and winter is on her way. We’ll  _ need _ the extra things.”

The small curl of Keith’s lips betrayed him. “Whatever you say. I just reserve the right to tease you if some of those ‘necessities’ wind up being sparkly bath sludge.”

"It's not sludge. You're just jealous because you don't like baths. Plus, some of us can't just burn the soil off our skin." Lance punctuated his sentence with a bite of toast.

“Hey! I  _ bathe,  _ and I actually  _ enjoyed it  _ when we got to share!”

“You enjoy bathing with me?” Lance asked before he’d even thought about the question.

“I mean-” Keith’s wings gave a panicked ruffle and he turned abruptly, clearing his throat. “I mean it wasn’t that bad. Your bath salts. Gels. Your liquid. You know what I mean.”

Lance stared down at his half-eaten breakfast. If he said the words to his toast, then he could avoid accidentally leaking his nerves through their bond. “That’s good. Because it’s getting too cold to bathe without you.”

Keith’s claws clicked together nervously. “Oh - that’s. That’s true. I’ll be happy to help. It’s my job. I’m a Familiar, that’s what I do, I - I help. Anyway, I should, um, double check the cart. Don’t want anything falling off, right?” 

He sent Lance a quick, overbright smile, and fled through the front door. Even with that quick glance, the red on Keith’s sharp cheekbones had been obvious. 

Lance finished his breakfast, drained his mug of a woeful excuse for ‘tea’, and grabbed his travel pack. He used the time to calm his own burning cheeks. 

As soon as he stepped outside, he immediately considered grabbing a thicker blanket. Within seconds, the mist seeped through his cloak and froze his bones. Sharp mushrooms shot up around him as a chill shivered down his spine. If this was early fall in the Deepmist, he didn’t want to know what winter would be like.

It was worse on the open road, where the wind whipped at his face from his perch on the cart. Keith walked beside it, talking quietly to the mule they borrowed from Abigail. It shook its head at something Keith said, snorting two clouds of white breath, and Keith chuckled. 

Eventually, the Deepmist broke and gave way to the well-beaten road that cut across the fields of golden wheat towards Gernfal. They were the only travelers which meant that, besides the clop of the mule’s hooves and Keith’s occasional murmur, the area was largely quiet. 

Though the sun was fully up, Lance was still shivering. Had it always been this cold in October? 

It took Keith getting accidentally speared by a mushroom to realize how miserable his master had become. Lance tried his best to look natural as Keith hopped up and settled in beside him. Picking at the blanket, Lance tried to distract himself from Keith’s hard muscles and the soft yet bumpy texture of his scaled skin. 

Despite his feigned nonchalance, he couldn’t keep his heart from pounding when Keith wrapped a wing around him. There was no way he was going to let himself read into this; Keith was doing this out of obligation. Keith wouldn’t even look at him, eyes trained to the road and the backside of the mule.

“There,” Keith said quietly. “Better?”

His early morning thoughts seemed far away under the umbrella of heat surrounding him. In this moment, everything slipped back to normality. “Much.” 

“You know…” Keith began, casting a glance behind them and then back to the road. “Your little funguses are getting a lot meaner these days. Why have you stopped growing those pudgy toadstools and started dabbling in weaponry instead?” 

“I’ve never really controlled what they look like.” Pressed against Keith, the ice was melting away from his bones. Lance rubbed his fingers, trying to get the stiffness to leave as well. “They kinda do what they want.”

Keith shot him a quick smile. “That’s pretty cute. It’s always been one of the things I liked best about you.”

The cursed, uncontrollable manifestation of his mana was Keith’s favorite? Great. “The thing you like best isn’t even a part of me,” Lance mumbled to himself.

“First of all, I said ‘one of,’” Keith huffed, “and second, it certainly is. They always reflect your mood or your emotions when you can’t show them, so they’re absolutely a part of you. Though I’m not sure what that means for the way they’ve all been bent over lately. I was hoping you’d tell me on your own.” 

“I told you, I don’t control them.” Lance peeked out from behind the wing to watch the trail of mushrooms pop. They were all hunched over like old men with their pointed caps facing east. “They’ve done this before, but not since I was a kid.”

“Hm.” 

Keith followed Lance’s line of sight. Once about ten or so bent mushrooms had sprouted, the ones behind them burst with a white cloud of frosty air. “Well, much like you, it seems they don’t enjoy the weather.”

“I don’t blame them. It’s like Glarie decided to come early and her winters are never kind.”

Keith snorted, sending a small cloud of dark smoke curling into the air. “Good thing you’ve got a fire dragon for this one. Winter can sure try her best.” 

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Keith had referred to  _ Glarie  _ herself, and not just the weather. Lance perked up, staring wide mouthed at Keith. “You said ‘her’.”

“Well...yeah,” Keith said self-consciously. “Winter’s the one that’s kind of a bitch, right? I don’t remember them all yet but that one’s not hard.”

Lance slapped his hand over Keith’s mouth. “She’ll hear you.” But Lance couldn’t hide his happiness through the bond. 

Keith’s eyes narrowed in a distinct smirk. A heartbeat later, there was something hot and wet sliding up Lance’s palm. 

“Oh, nasty. Who raised you?” Lance wiped off his handful of dragon slobber.

“A puma,” Keith answered cheerfully. 

“It shows.” 

Keith chuckled, readjusting his wings and urging the mule into a trot. “All that to say, winter shouldn’t be so bad with me around. I don’t care how cold it gets; ice and snow don’t have anything on a Northern Red.”

It was true. Next to Keith, it was as warm as summer. “Then never leave my side.” Lance grinned even as his chest tightened. Spoken out loud, the words felt like they could be heard all the way to the skies.

Wings ruffling, Keith held his chin high. “I don’t go back on my word.”

Lance tucked his legs to his chest, pulling his whole body under the warmth of the wing. “Yeah, I guess you don’t,” he said, smiling into his knees

~🍄~

Gernfal may have had Chierre as their patron goddess, but it was definitely Mairo’s turn to be praised in their little village. Everywhere around them, small fires burned in copper braziers. The air was heavy with the spice of hot cider and roasted chestnuts. It settled into Lance’s lungs and burned his eyes. 

Hopping down first, Keith held up a hand. “Why don’t you wait in the tavern and warm up while I unload in the square?”

“No,” Lance chattered as he hugged himself with his cloak. “I’m fine. Let me help.”

Keith’s soft chuckle was as warm as his hand as he ruffled Lance’s hair. Lance didn’t want to admit that his head followed it as Keith pulled away. “And they say  _ I’m  _ stubborn. Go inside, find us both something warm to drink. Whatever that smell is.” 

In all honesty, Lance very much wanted to go inside and sit by the fire. “Fine, but I’m helping you sell. I won’t sit around all day while you work.”

“Wouldn’t dream of going without you.  _ I  _ certainly don’t want to help the village grandmothers figure out what they need to rub on their gnarled old toes.” 

“Heh. Okay, good.” Lance shuffled his slipper on the frozen earth, not sure what was expected of him. They both stood there, unmoving and unwilling to part. 

Keith’s hand shot out and grabbed his, the sudden heat of his fingers making Lance’s palm burn cold. “Hey…”

“Y-yes?” So close. Keith’s eyes were as bright as the morning sun and loose strands of his hair tickled Lance’s face. He didn’t dare move.

For a moment, Keith leaned forward before his eyes grew hesitant. Lance held his breath, heart in his throat. Was Keith going to-

Lance hadn’t even realized he’d closed his own eyes until he heard Keith take a step back and his hand was freed. When he opened them, Keith was standing there with an awkward smile. 

“Nothing. I’ll, uh, meet you here as soon as I’m done.” 

“Yeah. Yeah okay,” Lance did his best to swallow down his heart. “I’ll just be...right here. Waiting.” _Oh stars_ , why had Keith stopped? Maybe he didn’t want to kiss him? Was Lance even  _ ready  _ to be kissed?

Lance turned toward the tavern as Keith turned towards his tasks. 

The ground was hard under the thin leather of his slippers and the packed earth crunched like ice with every step. As subtle as he could, Lance cupped his palm over his mouth and sniffed. His breath smelled like tea and toast. Not terrible, not ideal. 

Would Keith want to kiss him if he smelled like sweet blossom? 

There were potions like that, ones to make a person smell like flowers, but Lance had always considered them frivolous. He already wasted ingredients on his baths. That was as far as he let himself indulge. But maybe…maybe a few small coins to freshen up wouldn’t hurt.

Lance kept his eyes trained on the welcoming entrance of the Loppear Inn. It was still early in the day and the townspeople were stretching their sleep-heavy voices as the market filled. He ignored the bustling behind him in his single-minded hunt for heat. As soon as the heavy door closed, the world quieted and, thank the stars, became distinctly warmer as well. 

The tavern wasn’t much, not even compared to the most quaint in Highmount, but at least the far wall was mostly taken up by an open hearth with a cheerfully crackling fire. It transformed the entire shabby common area into a cozy and comfortable place. 

As many tables as could be were crammed into the small space, though most were empty save for a few straggling merchants still mopping the last of their eggs up with crusts of bread, and it was too early yet for any sort of music. In short, it was exactly the sort of place Lance could warm up and not have to engage in small talk. Preferably with something in his belly besides Keith’s hastily cobbled together - and spitefully made - breakfast. 

“Welcome to the Loppear, what can I get’cha?” 

The barkeep was an older woman, hair greying at the temples and her skin showing the cracked leather of a life spent mostly outdoors. She had a kind smile, though, as she set down the next in a series of tankards she’d been drying.

Lance shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, building up his confidence. She blinked at the ensuing silence.

“Uh-”

“Spiced cider!” Lance interrupted the bartender as he strode forward, shoulders squared. It’d been so long since he’d interacted with anyone besides Keith, he’d almost forgotten how. “Two, and two breakfasts,” he ordered with all the flair of a Highmount mage. Or, at least he tried.

The woman’s eyebrows lifted, but otherwise her expression stayed neutral. “As you like, love. Settle in wherever suits you. Won’t be but a moment.” 

Lance scanned the room. He had all the options available to him, save the one he wanted. The bench closest to the fire was occupied by an enormous mound of red hair. 

Now, there were an unusual number of redheads in Gernfal, he’d noticed, but none of them were as distinct as - 

“Annalys?” Lance asked, uncertain even as she turned.

There was no mistaking the constellations of brown freckles or the way her eyes crinkled over her round, button-mushroom nose. That was Annalys alright, somewhere under that mop of ridiculous hair.

“And I thought today would be boring!” she chirped, grinning as she waved him over. “Hello, Master Mage, what sort of lucky errand brings you to Gernfal this chilly morn’n?” 

Lance grinned and waved. Keith was going to be so surprised when he joined for breakfast. 

He crossed the short distance to take a seat across from Annalys on the prized bench closest to the fire. “Market day. We have to stock up for Winter’s foul temper. The bigger question is what are  _ you _ doing all the way out  _ here,  _ and without Oriax?”

He didn’t miss the way she quickly scanned the room left to right before drumming her fingers twice on the tabletop. Instantly, Lance’s ears popped with the change in pressure, and the room became muffled like he was underwater. 

“There.” Anny smiled. “Now we can speak a bit freer. Truth be told, I’m not alone - ‘course I’m not. But I’m sure you know as well as I that it’s not the best thing to go waltzing all bold into any village when your familiar is... _ uncommon _ . Tends not to go over too well, cha? And my little chicken doesn’t have a glamour the way your lucky lizard does.”

“Yeah. Lucky lizard.” Lance eyed Annalys with her carefree smile and easy attitude. She was still in the Magerium and yet she seemed more at ease than Lance did in the Deepmist. 

Happy and carefree all the while having a relationship under the Elder’s noses just like Shiro. The only other couple Lance knew that-

“You’re with Oriax,” Lance blurted out his own thoughts without preamble, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Annalys blinked at him. “Cha, I just said so, din’ I? He’s in the trees outside.”

“No, no.” He waved her explanation off. All of a sudden this chance encounter had become a gift from the Goddesses. Lance couldn’t let it slip away. “You kiss him.”

She burst into loud, merry laughter. “Oh but  _ do _ I! Do a lot more than that, too, when the mood strikes. Why? You grow a fancy for men in feathers?”

Lance couldn’t hold her gaze and picked at his nails. “More like scales,” he mumbled.

Thank every goddess there was that Annalys had sound magic because she practically screamed. “ _ Ooooh _ ! Finally!” She clapped - actually clapped her hands together in glee. “Oh, Keith’s probably walking on starlight, he’s been moony over you since he was no bigger than a  _ pig _ . Ha- _ ha!  _ Now you’ve  _ got  _ to tell me everything!”

This was a bad idea. This was definitely the wrong way to go about this, but who else was there? 

“Well, we’re not quite - what I mean is - I’m trying to say that-”

“Your dragon’s not made his way into your little cave yet, eh?” she smirked. 

His cave? Lance blinked at her. 

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Y'know, your  _ private back door.  _ Your as-" 

Lance stood and launched across the table to smack his hand over her mouth. “Hoile’s stars, Anny!” He knew he was blushing and that only made her smile under his hand. “I’m trying to ask how you wrote Oriax’s Letter of Nine. Not - not  _ that. _ ”

For the second time that day, something warm and wet slid against his palm. 

"Goddess damn you, too." Lance wiped his palm on his cloak for the second time that day. "You taught him that didn't you?" 

Anny laughed but chose not to dignify that with a response. “Well, to answer your question, I never did such a thing as to write Ori a  _ Letter of Nine _ . That’s for nobles and the people in songs.”

Lance had to disagree on that point. Courting letters were the  _ proper _ step. “Then how did you, uh, make your way into Oriax’s cave?” Stars, he hated every second of this. 

“Ah, well.” Annalys raised an eyebrow. “I had to make a clever purchase for that part.”

Lance leaned forward. He needed to buy something? He could do that, and lucky for him, they were at the market. Whatever it was, he would buy it.

“Seeing as how I’m a little flat in the nethers, but you shouldn’t need any extra equipment. Unless, o’course, your body doesn’t match your soul, as it were, or Keith’s parts are coated in lava.”

What? What did any of this have to do with writing Keith a courting letter so that they could kiss? 

“Could be a little tricky then. Oh! But you’re a water mage. You’ll be fine.” She snorted. “Extra steamy when you make things steamy.” 

Lance gaped at her in horror. It was way too hot by the hearth. He needed to move - or better yet, hide. “I don’t want to make things steamy. I - I -” 

Words weren’t cooperating and Anny’s smile never faltered. 

“I just want to kiss him!”

“So do it.” She shrugged. “What are you afraid of? It’s just a kiss. Hells, I summoned Ori in the middle of buttering my own bun, as it were, and here we are.”

“You did what?” Lance sat back, his bewilderment taking over his quest. “In front of everyone?”

That made her laugh all over again. Lance had never known he was such a comedian. 

“Oy, I’m not  _ that  _ bad, though I’m flattered you think so.” She wiggled her pale eyebrows lasciviously. “But no - I was the last spontaneous summoner the Magerium took on. I was just a moon or two shy of my 13th year,  _ enjoying my own company, _ like. I’d finally figured it out, too, and right as it was getting good for the very first time, bam! Big ol’ bird standing in the middle of my room gawking at me. First words Ori ever said to me were ‘What are you doing?!’”

“Wow.” He had nothing to say to that. It was...a lot. Even thinking about that for more than two drips of wax was two drips too long. If he’d summoned Keith like that - Nope. No. He wasn’t going there. 

Lance sent up a thankful prayer to Hoile that spontaneous summons had been done away within the years since. 

“You know, Anny, this is all very... _ informative _ I guess, but I don’t think it's going to help me. It's much too forward.” Stars,  _ Anny _ was much too forward. If that was the kind of guts it took to court Keith, Lance was fucked in all nine hells.

“Ah, the innocence of youth,” she mused, as if she wasn’t all of four or five years his senior.

“I’m not that innocent or young,” Lance grumbled.

The mischievous sparkle in her eyes softened into something quieter, kinder. “Don’t worry, Master Magi. It will happen in a way that suits you both. The best part of loving your familiar is that, if all else fails, you can just reach across the bond. You’ll know if he wants it, when he wants it. Knowing Keith? Oh, he wants it alright, and it’s probably killing him to wait. It always has.” 

Oh, so she  _ was _ capable of giving out decent advice. “I’ll know if he wants it.” That...didn’t seem so bad. “But that still doesn’t tell me what I write about.”

“If you’re set on writing it out, just tell him what’s in your heart, easy as that. What you feel like when he’s around, what he -” She broke off as her eyes met with someone or something behind Lance. “Pardon for a moment, don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go? I haven't even gotten my breakfast yet.” 

She pushed back from the bench and the air around them shivered a bit as she slipped through whatever invisible sound bubble she’d created. A man in plain clothes, another merchant or a hunter from the looks of him, approached her from the front door, removing his cap and running a hand through his travel-limp hair. 

They stood close together, speaking low and turned mostly away from the rest of the room, before he slipped her a linen-wrapped parcel. She tucked it into her jerkin and clapped him on the arm, murmuring something with a pinched, almost worried expression. He nodded, and in another moment, had his cap back on and held the door open for a couple coming in. He was gone from sight by the time they cleared the threshold. 

Anny turned and smiled at Lance again, her body language nothing but ease and casual grace as she strolled back to their bench. 

“Sorry for that. My ride north is about to head out, so I’m afraid I can’t stay to greet the little lizard.”

Lance pouted just a bit. He couldn’t help it; It was hard to watch another mage in good standing. “Official Magerium business?” he asked in a tone he hoped was neutral. 

She scoffed and waved towards the door, a broad gesture that indicated a general sense of ‘oh, you know how it is.’ 

“If only. Rather, I’m picking up the slack from a certain errant King’s Mage and his Kitty Cat Supreme. They’re taking their sweet time, and everyone else’s, on their latest trip, which leaves us to do the grunt work they left behind.” 

Hm. Well that explained why Shiro and Adam hadn’t written in a while, though it was hard to imagine what could be so important that it required the King’s Mage to be personally present for an extended amount of time. 

He filed that away to tell Keith later. At least now they knew for sure it was just business. Smiling at her, Lance stood to bow. “Stars illuminate your path, Annalys.”

“And yours,” she agreed, giving him a few hearty and affectionate pats on the back that sent him jolting forward. “Give our love to Firebreath, tell him we’re sorry we missed him. And if you’re amenable, we can stop in on our way back to Highmount?”

“Of course, I’m sure Keith would love it.”

Another pat and a swift smile and she was gone, taking the sound spell with her. The air rushed back in around him with a sort of  _ whmpf  _ sound that ruffled his hair as the pressure reached equilibrium. Lance startled at the clank and murmur of tavern noise bursting in to fill the absence. 

Lance rubbed at his ears, swallowing to get them to pop. 

Sound mages. Ugh. 

Alone again, Lance leaned against his fist as he watched people trickle in. 

“Our bond, huh?” he asked no one. It really sounded like something Keith would say. He could hear his voice now,  _ The Old Magic doesn’t make mistakes, you should trust it, blah blah destiny etcetera,  _ or something equally as memorized. 

With a sigh, Lance let his head slide to the table, pillowing it with his arms. 

There was something blocking Keith from taking this further. They were pretty much back to their old routine, despite their confessions, and it was probably Lance’s fault. Something he was doing or not doing that caused Keith to hesitate. 

That made him sit up again, peering into a knot in the wood as he thought. No, Anny was wrong. The courting letter wasn’t just for nobles and songs; it was to show Keith he was serious. It was to show him that it was okay to step beyond their usual selves and into this new territory. 

If he wrote it just right, with the perfect words, Keith would understand. And then they could do  _ more. _ Things like hold hands, kiss, and - and everything that came along with that. Caves and whatnot. 

Tiny bent mushrooms spread out from his hands like popping soap bubbles. He could do this; he just needed the right words. There should be time before Keith came back.

Lance ripped his hands from the table, mushrooms ripping in half and falling in mid air to thunk against the wood. He dug around in his satchel. _ Ah-ha!  _ He was glad his training always kept him prepared with parchment and ink. A little more digging and he found his quill. 

Wiping the table clean of his fungus, he immediately started writing.  _ You’re very warm and I appreciate -  _ ugh, he didn’t address him. Lance scratched it out and tried again.  _ To my beloved dr-  _ No, no. He should use Keith’s name. That was more intimate and had nothing to do with being Familiar and Mage. 

_ Keith, your scales are like Hoile’s stars- _

A mug of cider hit the table and startled him into cutting a line of ink down the parchment. Along with it came an obscenely large platter of food. 

“There you are, Master Mage. Enjoy the fruits of Gernfal.”

Lance nodded. It was enough food to feed him thrice over, and would probably at least hold Keith for a candlemark or two. 

Speaking of his dragon, their bond tingled to life with warmth, which meant Keith was on his way over. A thread of grumpiness and discontent simmered underneath it like a prick of static. Whatever had Keith irritated, hopefully it would be appeased with a platter full of meat and whatever the sweet, sticky-looking bun was in the corner. 

It wasn’t much longer before Keith shouldered his way into the tavern, his expression surly and his nose and ears pink with cold. He softened a bit when he saw Lance, and more so when he saw breakfast. He fell artlessly onto the bench, shoulder to shoulder with Lance, before pulling his platter close and sniffing at it. 

“It’s not poisoned. Probably.” Every place they touched burned in the most delicious way. Lance couldn’t help the little gasp that fell from his lips when a wave of pleasure from their contact washed over him. Slowly and self consciously, he folded his paper in half to hide it.

“I don’t know if I’d care, even if it was.” Keith gave the cider a tentative sip and his grumpy expression smoothed into something near blissful. “This is amazing. Who needs tea, let’s just buy apples.”

Lance shifted so that only their knees touched. “You’ll regret that the next time you’re coughing smoke and whining at me for something to help.”

“I never whine,” Keith whined, and scooted right back into place, flush along Lance’s side. 

With the fire at his back and Keith at his side, the whole tavern was over-hot. Lance pressed the back of his hand against his burning cheek. “Right. Just like you never sulk in the fireplace.”

“Just eat your breakfast.”

Lance picked at the platter while he tapped his quill, creating little splatters of ink. He couldn’t really write now that Keith was here, but he also didn’t want to put it away. His fingers itched to finish what he’d started. “You know,” Lance said with a mouthful of spiced bread, “Annalys and Oriax were here. I tried to invite them to eat with us.”

That pulled Keith’s attention away from his food. “‘Were?’ They left and didn’t say hi? What were they doing out here? Have they heard from Shiro and Adam? When are they getting back?”

“Woah, I’m only one poor lesser potions master. I can’t tell you how the stars align.” Lance threw a raisin at Keith’s nose. “I  _ can  _ tell you what Annalys told me, and that’s that she was here on official business because Shiro and Adam are held up in Daibazaal.”

Keith grunted in annoyance and threw the raisin right back. “Well, she’s worthless, and I’m mad at her for leaving without saying hello, or letting us know she was nearby. Or anything else useful, for that matter.”

“Noted. I’ll file your complaint with the King’s Mage himself.” Lance grinned and ate the abused raisin.

Complaints aired, Keith was mostly quiet until he’d moved through his entire breakfast and was nursing a second mug of cider with his sticky bun. Lance on the other hand fiddled with his parchment until it frayed at the corners. If nothing else, Lance had grown a new respect for the poets of the heart.

Especially when Keith lightly rested his head against Lance’s shoulder, and words failed him entirely. 

“So,” Keith said, soft and casual. “Any chance you’re going to tell me what’s got you smelling like that?”

“Like what?” Lance swallowed and resisted the urge to sniff himself. Maybe he really did stink after all? He scribbled  _ scented oil/sachet _ onto his folded paper.

Keith hummed around a bite of bun, the tip of his tongue poking out to sweep the honey from the corner of his lips. “I’m not sure - it’s hard to describe. Something heavy, like an overcast sky. Anxious, maybe?” 

Lance snorted. “Do oncoming storms smell bad to you?” Maybe it was his water-infused mana that was assaulting Keith’s senses. Would he smell better to Keith if he smelled more like a fire mage? Lance added ‘ _ smoke?’ _ to the list.

“No. But you only smell like that when you’re brooding.”

“Do not.” Or at least he wasn’t brooding, was he?

“Do too. Trust me; you’ve done plenty of it since spring. Here.” Keith tore a small bite from his bun and held it to Lance’s lips. “Sweet stuff helps everything.”

Lance blinked up at him as the honey melted on his lips. The rich scent of bread filled his nose and sent his heart beating. One of Keith’s nails grazed his skin as he opened his mouth - sharp, but not enough to cut. 

Keith’s playful expression faltered with his breath, a quick, startled intake followed by a shuddery exhale. His lashes lowered to half-mast, obscuring the false grey of his eyes as he pushed the pastry into Lance’s mouth. The pads of his fingers snagged on Lance’s lower lip as he pulled away, and Keith’s gaze was completely fixated on that point of contact. 

The salt of Keith’s skin lingered among the honey and dough. It was spicy, like cloves cutting through the sugar of the bread. Lance licked his lips to get more of the intoxicating taste. 

So that was what Keith tasted like. 

Lance would never admit out loud that he’d pondered it before, but now that he’d had a sample, he wanted to try the main course. Lance raked his eyes down the point of Keith’s nose, down, down to his sugar-dusted lips.

“Well...you definitely smell different now,” Keith murmured. 

“Yeah? Is it bad?”

Keith’s reply was basically a quiet groan disguised as words. “No. It’s... _ very  _ nice.”

Nice. He smelled nice. Annalys’ words came back to him:  _ Just reach across the bond and you’ll know.  _ Hesitant and wary, Lance sent a curious thread between them, telling himself that he was only checking on how Keith felt, nothing more.

As he always was, Keith was wide open to him, and like always, reaching out through their bond was like drowning in the sun. He could feel the warm syrup that Lance had come to recognize as Keith’s affection, but this time it was laced through with a cherry red that pulsed with pure  _ want _ . 

There was no mistaking that for anything other than what it was. It had Lance leaning forward, fueled by the reassurance that he was not alone in his desire, that Keith wanted him just as much, that all they had to do was lean in just a hair’s breadth more and - 

That was when he noticed: besides the need so strong it practically ached, there was hesitance, reluctance, restraint. Keith was holding back, the whole of his emotions barricaded by the repeated sensation of  _ not now not now not now. _

Lance froze. Keith’s eyes were trained on him, through them he could see the confirmation of what the bond was whispering in the strained lines around his mouth. Thinking fast, Lance snatched the half eaten bread from Keith’s fingers and went back to his side of the bench. 

“This is really delicious,” he said, too cheerful to be natural. 

The bond rippled with confusion and disappointment. It made Lance almost regret backing off, but Keith cleared his throat and sat back as if nothing had happened. “It is. I should try to, uh, make them. Anyway, are you all finished? It’s almost time for the market to open.”

Stuffing the rest of the bread in his mouth so he didn’t have to answer, Lance nodded and wondered - not for the first and, unfortunately, likely not the last time - why this was proving to be so difficult. 

-🍄-

During the candlemark that’d he sat in the Loppear, the entire town had woken up. Town Square - which was really more of a circle - was crammed from end to end with stalls and blankets piled high with goods. Most of the local merchants were finishing their morning tea as they tugged the covers off their displays, while others were already loudly bargaining with the growing crowd. The sharp, coppery scent of the fires burning in Mairo’s many braziers was heightened as dried anise was tossed over the coals.

Keith grumbled something and scrubbed at his nose as he set up the last of their little display. “Ugh, I hate that smell. Now the entire market smells like dirt and pepper-” 

“I don’t mind it, your nose gets all cute and pink.”

“-and just when it starts to die down, they go and stink it u-” Keith fumbled whatever he was holding, and made a little  _ hup  _ noise as he caught it again. When Lance glanced over at him, the high point of Keith’s cheeks were as rosy as his nose. 

“If you’ve got time to tease,” Keith shot back, “then you have time to finish setting up before we get mobbed by all the rheumatic old farmers.”

_ Mobbed  _ was, of course, an exaggeration, given that the entirety of Gernfal would barely constitute a mob even if they invited all of their aunts, uncles, and extended cousins. They did get a steady stream of customers, however, including a few younger girls who were thrilled with the sweet-smelling sachets of dried flowers Lance had dipped in a light charming potion. It wouldn’t do more than turn a few heads, but that was enough for them to sell out in a mark. 

The whole time Keith sat beside Lance, listening contentedly as he explained to each customer what each potion did. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, either, that every time Keith got up to restock or refill their skins, he settled himself closer and closer to Lance. Eventually, they were so close together that their thighs brushed and Lance could feel the phantom tug of Keith’s tail wrapping lightly around his waist.

Keith’s face was hesitant and shy as he smiled and lifted his eyebrows, as if to say  _ is this okay? Am I going too far?  _

Lance only returned his smile with one of his own and scooted over until they were pressed firmly together. The tail gave him a squeeze before going back to its hesitant hold. 

It was enough for Lance to gain a little confidence. 

After an old lady left with some bone cream for rainy days, Lance rested a hand lightly on Keith’s knee. “It’s starting to warm up.”

“I am,” Keith agreed. Then quickly amended, “I mean, it is. Yes. Definitely warm. Warm- _ er _ . Than it was before.”

“Maybe you were right.” Lance smirked under his blush.

The little shiver of piqued interest and panic in their bond was deeply satisfying.

“...Yeah?” Keith squeaked. “About what?”

“Maybe winter  _ will  _ be easier with a fire dragon by my side.” 

If Keith’s affection was honey gold, that distinct flash of bright lemon yellow in their bond could only mean he’d gotten the best of his dragon yet again. The zing across their connection curled Lance’s toes. This, whatever it was, was kind of exciting. Fun, even. Keith had spent so long having a leg up on Lance that it felt really good to finally get some payback in the form of casual flirting. Who knew his recklessly brave familiar was this easy to fluster? 

“Well!” Keith said brightly, shaking their purse of coins in Lance’s face. Apparently they were both supposed to ignore how his voice cracked on the word. “We’ve, uh, certainly done well this time. Feel how heavy this is. You could probably buy out the entire stall of smelly bath sludge if you wanted.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There are practical things we need to buy first. You may be warm but Glarie will always win in the end.” Lance tapped his toe against Keith’s. “And slippers aren’t going to get us through it.”

Keith lifted an eyebrow at him and grabbed his hand, plopping the purse into his palm. “Feel that.” 

Lance’s hand immediately dropped to his lap with the weight. “Oh. That’s heavy.” 

“Astute observation, Master, well done.” 

“Are you going to give me full marks, then?” Lance tried to dip his voice low as he leaned over to whisper it. He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of innuendo he was going for, but he hoped Keith would make up for it by jumping to conclusions - the kind that would hopefully lead to kissing within the next century. 

And sure enough, there was that tart lemon brightness again. He felt the air around them stir as Keith’s invisible wings flapped.

“I...yes?” Keith’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I mean, you’re the reason that purse is so heavy. You always price your work down so low. I finally charged what it was worth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You always price your potions down like you’re apologizing that they exist. I price them to reflect the level of your skill.” He huffed. “At least one of us knows its worth.”

Lance held up the hefty purse by its strings. His worth? The Magerium only paid him his stipend; he’d never thought about what his potions were worth outside their walls. He’d never thought about his own worth outside their walls. “Is this what I’m worth?”

Keith leveled him with a look. “As I recall, I made it very obvious what I think you’re worth when we were trapped in a wine cellar, shortly before I was burned at the stake.”

“You did.” Lance broke away to stare at the spinning purse. “At the fishing shack as well,” he said, voice barely audible even to his own ears.

“That too,” Keith agreed softly, and reached out to tilt Lance’s face up by the chin. His smile was slight, but lambs’-wool soft. “And I stand by it. Now I just need you to see it too.”

It was enough for Lance to see it through Keith. Instead of answering and ducked his head to plant a swift peck on Keith’s fingers. Before he lost his nerve, Lance stood and held out his hand. “Then, why don't we spend some of our hard earned coin?”

“...As long as you don’t make me smell every single bath salt this time.”

Lance hummed. “We’ll see.”

Once Keith was on his feet, he laced their fingers together and squeezed. 

They wove through some of the other stalls, past merchants selling winter cloaks, hot fried dough sprinkled with cinnamon, simple stone jewelry, candles, and all manner of things not typically found in the town shops. It was nice just to walk around without the humid thickness of the Deepmist, and even better to do so holding Keith’s hand. 

As they walked, the simple intimacy of that act had Lance’s thoughts turning back to his unwritten letter. Maybe it was small things like this that should be written down? No, ridiculous. It had to be big. Something that could encompass everything he felt transformed into ink. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a pulse of something effervescent in the bond, like a dog catching a faraway sound and perking its ears. Just as quickly, Lance could feel Keith quell whatever it was, stuffing it back into the general hum of the tie between them. 

Lance eyed him, but Keith’s face was blank. “Was there something you wanted to look at?”

“No, it’s fine,” Keith said a little too quickly. 

The purse clinked as they walked, mixing with the hustle and bustle of the market. Lance watched Keith from the corner of his eye the whole way to the soap stall. Keith was definitely lying. He kept taking quick glances back at whatever had caught his attention. 

Silly dragon. Why was he being so secretive all of a sudden? 

He couldn’t hide the insistent little curl of interest from Lance unless he shrank their bond, which Keith would never do. That left them at a sort of crossroads, however, as Keith was just stubborn enough that he wouldn’t offer up anything unless Lance pushed it.

When they reached the stall, Keith had smoothed his expression back into detached distaste. He wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the offerings. 

“There’s twice as many options this time,” he groused. “And unfortunately you can afford all of them several times over.”

Lance hummed again as he dragged his hand over the corks. "I don't need all of them." He could probably use them if he really indulged himself, but he had other plans. After that tingle of interest, there was no way he was going to let Keith go without...whatever it was he was pretending not to want. 

Lance picked out a modest two bottles and handed them to Keith. "What do you think?" 

Keith glanced at the ingredients and wrinkled his nose. “I think this one is made from a part of a turtle that’s better left unsaid. This other one’s not bad, though. I liked that blue one you had; it made the air smell like berries whenever you walked by. Stuck to all our clothes, too, which was nice. Hunting was less lonely when I could still smell you.”

Lance flipped around, pressing a cold bottle to his cheek. “Then we should get that one again.” 

Stars, he was sweating. How could Keith say things like that so easily? Lance had already used up all his courage at the Loppear; it took everything he’d had just to hold Keith’s hand.

“Whatever you like, Master.” Keith shrugged. 

The words were like a splash of cold water. After an entire day of barely hearing the word, doing so while holding Keith’s hand felt deeply wrong - not because of the Nine, but because it was a reminder that Keith was still very much entrenched in his role as Lance’s subordinate, of sorts. That was very likely why he hadn’t spoken up about whatever it was that had caught his eye. There was probably some ridiculous rule in the familiar’s creed that said they shouldn’t ever want things or - or - something equally stupid. 

And besides, Lance had actually thought Keith  _ enjoyed _ their scents mixing, stars forgive him. “Sorry, I just assumed-” He shook his head, abandoning the apology. 

“Stop.”

Keith’s voice was quiet, just for them, but the command was no less firm. He nudged at Lance’s ear with his nose, snuffling at his hair.

“I can smell that, don’t forget. And whatever you  _ think _ I thought? It isn’t true. Relax.”

“This is hard,” Lance confessed to the bath oil. “I don’t know when to be your mage and when to be your…  _ yours _ .” 

“That’s simple.” Keith gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re both, at all times. We’ll figure it out. Shiro and Adam did, after all.”

“We’re not them.”

Keith snorted. “I sure hope not.”

“Then how can you be so sure?”

“Because I trust us,” Keith replied without hesitation. “Because I’m pretty sure we both want, more than anything, to take care of the other. That sort of thing lends itself to success.”

“Then which is it? Do you enjoy smelling like me or does my familiar feel comfort in the scent of his master?”

Then, right there in the marketplace, Keith pulled him in and held him. Lance could feel the leather of his wings enfolding them both, even if he couldn’t see them, and the smoke of his breath made the air between them warm. 

“Stubborn,” he chastised into Lance’s hair. “You never listen. But I’ll say it for you anyway. When I’m out in the woods alone, it’s  _ not  _ my master I’m thinking of...Lance.”

Lance whipped his head up to stare open mouthed at Keith. He wanted to point out that Keith had used his name, that when he’d said it that their bond had filled with honey so sweet Lance could taste it on his lips. Instead he said, “I’m buying all of the berry ones.”

Keith grinned. “Good choice.”

~🍄~

Lance ended up with five pots of blueberry scented bath oil and two that he thought would go well with his glowbug juice. Keith carried the crate of them as Lance tactfully steered them back the way they’d come. 

There was no way he was going to tell Keith what he was doing. He kept his pace slow, waiting for the spark of interest to flash.

Sure enough, when they skirted around the last stall, he felt the flicker along their bond that betrayed Keith even more than the way his head turned.

He only glanced briefly, but it was enough to clue Lance in. The stall that had caught his familiar’s attention was a blacksmith. It wasn’t anything local if the artful curves of the blades and the unusual engravings were anything to go by.

“We’re stopping at that stall.” Lance gestured towards it with a formal flourish. “I want to look at the...swords.”

Keith made some kind of garbled, skeptical sound in his throat. “What? Why? You don’t even like handling kitchen knives if they’re too big.”

“Because you want to.” He strode toward the cart with confidence he didn’t quite feel. 

“Wh-” 

Keith jogged to catch up, the bottles rattling in the crate as he did. “I never said anything like that.”

Lance grinned over his shoulder. “Not with that pretty mouth, you didn’t.”

Their bond went up like a lightning bolt - sudden and so intense Lance could practically hear thunder.

Keith froze exactly where he was standing, which in turn shocked Lance to a halt midstep. 

A cacophony of emotions surged around him, overwhelming and overflowing. Lance tried to blink away the color that filled his vision. 

“... _ Pretty _ ?” Keith’s voice was strained as he asked. “You think - it -  _ pretty _ ?”

The connection between them was euphoric. Lance couldn’t help grinning even if he wanted to. “C’mon. Let's get my pretty, sharp dragon something pretty and sharp.” Lance tugged him along the rest of the way. Bright pink mushrooms chased after them and only half were bent over.

As soon as they reached the stall, something tingled at the front of his skull, like a bee had gotten stuck there and was trying to get out. With a start, he realized it was his mana reacting to the presence of something magical. 

Not something - some _ one _ , and not the thin strains of the occasional Unclaimed Magi. This was the loud presence of someone with powerful, well-trained mana. 

Keith sensed it too from the way he began sniffing the air.

“You smell that?” he asked under his breath. 

“No.” Lance followed the strange tingle until his eyes landed on a blacksmith hammering away behind the stall. “But I feel it.”

The blacksmith in question was a large, barrel-chested man, brown skin glistening with sweat as he beat a length of metal into shape. The hiss of steam as he plunged it into a nearby bucket made him smile, and it took his otherwise imposing stature from ‘could break me in half if he so chose’ to ‘he probably gives very nice hugs.’ 

Lance gaped. He shouldn’t, it wasn’t like mages were forbidden to be all the way out here. Afterall, he was and so had Anny been. The difference was that his mana had never reacted to another mage like that, as if he was being drawn to the blacksmith. 

The blacksmith must have felt them, too, because he glanced up and met eyes with Lance. Immediately, he broke into a smile and waved.

“Hi!” he called. “Be with you in just a drip. Take a look around, just mind the heat.”

“Doubt that’ll be a problem,” Keith muttered.

Lance elbowed him with a smile and mouthed, ‘earth mage.’ 

The man had to be; it was the only explanation. Lance had never met one. There may have been a few when he’d arrived as a child, but earth mages were rare and usually sent straight to the forge or the army. Why this one wasn’t in either was a mystery, but he’d heard their mana was almost magnetic, and that would certainly explain the strange tugging sensation. That, and all the weapons being uncannily well made. 

Keith surveyed the offerings with his arms crossed, trying to look nonchalant. It failed spectacularly in two ways: outwardly, because it made him far more stern-looking and intimidating, and privately, because Lance could quite literally feel his invisible tail wagging with glee.

Lance couldn’t blame him; the craftsmanship of everything was exquisite. Of course there were the regular shortswords and daggers, but even the farm tools and more mundane objects were lovingly made. The metal was the smoothest he’d ever seen, and the edges were so sharp they’d shred through any leaves that had the misfortune to fall on them. 

Keith picked up a dagger with its handle wrapped in a handsome, wine-colored leather thong. Placing the middle of the blade on the very end of his finger, they both watched it wobble and come to a complete, perfectly-balanced standstill. Keith whistled. 

“I wish I could do this. It seems like such a waste to have fire magic and know that if I ever wanted to make weapons, I’d still have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Well,” Lance said, nudging Keith, “I think your glasswork is even better.”

Keith gave him a wry smile. “Fairly sure you’re biased in that case, frog boy - you and Humbert the Second.”

Lance coughed and turned to examine the small collection of glasses. Keith’s smile was too soft and did too many things to his heart. 

“There now.”

They both jumped at the blacksmith’s voice, loud and jovial and a lot closer than either of them had apparently realized. 

He smiled at them and mopped at his brow with a rag. “Looking for anything in particular?” 

Lance nodded at Keith while still eyeing the blacksmith. Was it possible he was from the Outerlands? No, no one from there was allowed past the borders...but he didn’t look Daibazaali either. “Whatever he wants.” To reiterate his message, he repeated to Keith with a little burst of reassurance through their bond, “Anything. Even a special order if he so chooses.”

Keith looked a little terrified at that prospect. He stared at Lance, then down at the dagger, and very quickly put it back where he’d found it. “I...uh…”

“Take your time,” the blacksmith said, though he was peering hard at Keith. 

Lance sent another encouraging push through the bond as he tried on a pair of glasses. If there was enough coin left over, maybe he could get a little treat as well. His old pair had burned, after all, and they did seem to be magicked. 

_ If _ was the key word. Keith deserved more than whatever he wanted from this stall. He never asked for anything -  _ ever -  _ and Lance was going to put an end to that now and forever. Whatever training that kept Keith in his shadow instead of by his side was no longer necessary. 

They were equals now: Keith and Lance, before Mage and Familiar

Keith had been looking around for about ten minutes while Lance tried on glasses, testing their mana-detecting qualities. He listened as Keith fidgeted, picking things up and turning them over, when the blacksmith pulled Keith aside. The blacksmith bent down to lower his voice, glancing once at Lance before murmuring something to Keith that made their bond hum with confusion and defensiveness. 

Lance put the golden pair of glasses down as he slowly turned to peek at Keith. There was no way his dragon was in danger, of course, since nothing could hurt Keith, but if the earth mage was making him uncomfortable then Lance had a few strong words to share with him.

The blacksmith had reached his hand out, almost as if he was aiming for Keith’s neck, when Lance interrupted. 

“We have the coin if that’s what concerns you, blacksmith.”

He drew his hand back and glanced at Lance, as did Keith.

“He was asking about my collar,” Keith explained, touching the rough metal absently. 

Lance frowned and closed the distance between them. Being honest with himself, Keith was the more intimidating between them, but that didn’t stop him from squaring his shoulders as he glared at the blacksmith. “It's not his concern.”

The blacksmith crossed his arms over his barrel of a chest. “Just wondering when the Magerium started having mages collar their familiars like  _ pets _ , is all. Unless it was a personal choice.”

“Personal  _ choice- _ ” Winter crept up his fingers and shivered down his spine as a gust of frigid air rustled past them. “I’d hold your tongue about things you know nothing about. Unclaimed or not, you have no right to say such things.”

“Who’s Unclaimed?” the blacksmith shot back. “What I’m saying is that a familiar this powerful shouldn’t be shackled like a plow horse.”

Keith took a step back at that, as if he’d just remembered they were in public and he was required to play a certain role. His head lowered in deference and he stared at the floor. 

Seeing Keith revert to their Magerium days raised his hackles. “Stars bless you,” Lance sneered. “If only your wares were as goodly as your mouth. Curse you to all nine hells if you think we had a choice. As if  _ I _ -” 

Anger had wrenched the words from his throat, but he slammed his teeth down to keep the rest of them from escaping.

“You’re saying you didn’t have a  _ choice _ ? Powerful familiar like this, and you didn’t have a  _ choice _ ?”

Sharp and wickedly bent mushrooms pierced the earth. They tangled their twisted bodies across the stall and a few shoved display weapons onto the floor. One disastrously tall skullcap curved itself over Lance’s shoulder to point directly at the blacksmith. “I owe no explanation to an Unclaimed outcast trying to peddle his lightly magicked knives in a no-name hamlet.” 

“He didn’t have a choice.”

The blacksmith looked at Keith, who had raised his head and stepped in front of Lance to shield him. 

“My Master was ordered to put this on me by the Elders. He never would have done this himself. It was a punishment for me acting out.” 

“Keith.” Lance immediately softened and brushed his knuckles down the soft wool of Keith’s tunic. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

“No. I won’t stand for anyone thinking you’d do something like that.”

“ _ Ah _ .” The blacksmith’s voice, softer now, interrupted them. “I see. Seems I jumped to conclusions.” 

The mushrooms creaked to point their caps at the blacksmith, as if they, too, were accusing him of sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted. “Not that it concerns you,” Lance muttered, “But that collar was enchanted by the King’s Mage himself. It’s impossible for anyone else to remove it.” 

It was more information than Lance wanted to give, but he hoped the jab would do something to knock the blacksmith down a notch.

“I… wouldn’t be so sure of that.” The wide, jovial smile was back, and this time it came with a little wink. “I could get it off in no time, I’d wager. In fact, if you like, I’ll do it for free. Think of it as an apology for overstepping.”

The bond tingled with brightness and interest, though Keith’s face was placid. “Master?”

Lance looked between the pushy blacksmith’s smile and Keith’s blank expression.

“If Shiro found out…” He whispered the warning, but they were all too close to be truly secretive. “And not to mention we don’t know what spells are on it.” 

“I told you, I don’t think it’s spelled beyond preventing removal,” Keith protested, then added, “though the decision, of course, is yours. Master.”

That hurt. After everything, this was all it took for Keith to revert back into complete submission? 

“I told you,” Lance said, voice tight. “You -”

He was interrupted by a loud squelch. They both turned to find the blacksmith struggling to pop the mushrooms that were colonizing his wares, though his sword kept bouncing right off. 

“Do you mind?” Keith snapped at him.

The blacksmith dropped his sword and held his hands up. “Sorry.”

“Like I was saying,” Lance ground out through gritted teeth. “You can have anything you want.” 

Keith glanced between Lance, the blacksmith, the mushrooms, and back. His eyes narrowed as he came to a decision, dragging Lance away with a quick  _ excuse us.  _

When they were out of earshot, Keith held him by the shoulders and looked directly into Lance’s eyes. 

“Alright, now that it’s just us, I need to know - what do you think? Is this a bad idea? I…” He paused. Took a breath. Started again. “I’m torn. Maybe it’s silly, but having this collar removed almost seems like...like…”

Lance ran his finger over the offending metal, feeling the hum of Shiro’s magic. Removing it would be giving up any chance of going back, but returning at all had been an illusion in the first place. They'd never be allowed back; truth be told, they'd probably already been forgotten. 

“After the Magerium threw us out, we truly found each other. I’m ready to move on if you are.” Lance smiled up through his long bangs. "I swore I'd stay by your side like a twin star, Keith. I made no such promise to the Magerium." 

The renewed  _ thwack thwack thwack  _ of mushrooms being assaulted filled the silence between them.

Keith pinched his lips, searching Lance’s eyes and probing along their bond to see if there was any hesitation there. When he found none, he pulled Lance in for a tight hug. 

“Alright,” he breathed into Lance’s shoulder. “Let’s be rid of this ugly thing.”

Lance let himself be held. Keith’s fire melted the winter from his bones and uncoiled his muscles. The last link to their past. He smirked into the crook of Keith’s neck. “A new chapter of our life.” 

Keith snorted, sending a little cloud of smoke curling over them both. “Oh, vile. Who knew you were cornier than all the fields outside Gernfal?” 

It wasn’t fair the power Keith had over his heart. There was no way he would be able to fit all of this onto parchment when he finally had the time to try. Even as he teasingly pinched Keith, Lance fell a little harder. “Shut up, you insufferable chimney.” 

It was painfully more endearing when his enormous, scary dragon giggled as he danced backward a few feet to escape any further attack. “You started it.”

“And I’ll finish it.” Lance jogged ahead, grabbing Keith’s hand on the way. He tugged him the few feet back to the stall, unable to hide his grin. He never wanted that cursed thing on Keith in the first place, and now, in their first true act of treason, they were going to remove it. 

The blacksmith, apparently, had been watching them the whole time from the way he smirked over his crossed arms. “Glad you could hug it out. Time to get to work?”

Keith nodded, still grinning. “Please. I can’t begin to tell you how much I want this thing off.”

“Well then.” The blacksmith’s broad face lit up with his grin. “Let’s get the fire going.”

~🍄~

All things considered, the removal of Keith’s collar was a short undertaking with very little fanfare. The blacksmith was as careful a metal mage as he was a blacksmith, and soon enough, the collar was in two heavy chunks on the grass. 

Lance could feel the thunk it made down to his core, as if he too was freed of the shackle. 

The skin around Keith’s neck where the collar had been was white while the rest of him had tanned, and it would be months before the rawness and irritation settled down, but it didn’t matter. 

Keith’s relief and excitement were so incandescent that Lance didn’t even need the bond to experience it. 

In the warped reflection of the blacksmith’s looking glass, Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance. His glamour faded just enough that his grin was particularly toothy. “I didn’t even remember I had a neck under that, did you, Master?” 

Lance shook his head. “If only we hadn’t sold all the ointment. I didn’t know…” He brushed his finger over the abused skin. It would scar, if it hadn’t already.

Beside them, the blacksmith cleared his throat. Keith jolted a little, immediately taking a step back and bowing his head. 

“Thank you for this. I’m not sure how I can repay you.” 

“No need.” The blacksmith waved him off, then amended, “Well, it would be nice if you’d get all that fungus you sprouted off my stuff. That’s going to be a real pain otherwise.”

Lance turned to see tiny pink and yellow mushrooms bending their heads over all the weaponry and woven between the giant skullcaps from before. “Sorry, um - this isn’t going to be pretty.” He did his best to pop them all by sinking the water into the ground, but there were so many that most exploded into puddles. “Sorry,” he said again, pushing some dirt into one of the puddles by his foot. 

“Wow. That is...possibly the most useless manifestation of water magic I’ve ever seen.”

“It is not,” Keith protested hotly. “He took out a spider the size of a barn with those.” 

“A spider the…” The blacksmith lifted his brows. “Oh, that was you guys? Yikes. I never would have guessed. You don’t seem like the types to go around destroying villages.”

When Keith went to protest further, Lance placed his hand on the small of his back. “You still have a knife you wanted to pick out.” 

Keith frowned at him, opening his mouth once more before he caught the pointed look Lance was giving him. He closed it, but not without a sulky little purse to his lips. “Right. I’ll just go do that, I guess.” 

As Keith went back to the display of daggers, the blacksmith hummed thoughtfully. “Sooo…” he said, too casual to be casual. “What is he really?” 

“Oh, right. I guess you saw that, didn’t you?” If they trusted this man enough to cut their ties to the Mageirum, then there wasn’t anything else to lose. “I guess we haven't really discussed it yet, but I’m planning on writing an official courtship letter.”

“That…” the blacksmith began, his tone as unreadable as his face, “isn’t what I meant. But no wonder the elders shackled him if you’re... _ like that _ .” 

Lance tried to keep his panic in check so that Keith wouldn’t feel it. “No, no. It wasn’t because of that. We didn’t - we weren't-” He waved the words from the air and tried again, “It was because Keith burned down the entire Alchemy wing and most of the library. Probably all of the library, actually. It was my fault though. I wasn’t careful with the ingredients.” 

There was a beat of silence before the blacksmith broke into a deep belly laugh. It went on for a few seconds before he was able to ask, “You did  _ what _ ?”

The laughter was infectious and Lance caught himself grinning. “Well, actually I guess the collar was because the Elder’s nephew pushed me into a cake at the High Spring Ball and Keith jumped him; the fire was how we got exiled. I dropped the dusksilt, Keith started sneezing fire, and a candlemark later - poof. No more library.” 

That only made the blacksmith laugh harder, and it was another minute before he finally wound down enough to speak. 

“Well, good for you. Any enemy of the Magerium is a friend of mine.”

Lance’s smile fell. “We’re not enemies of the Magerium.”

The blacksmith clicked his tongue skeptically. “Wouldn’t be so quick to deny it. If you’re about to write a courting letter for your own familiar...that pretty much sets you directly against them and everything they preach over there. I’d get comfy with the idea if I were you.” 

The words hung between them as Lance watched Keith pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping by looking very closely at a knife. _Outcasts_ Lance could live with. _Unwanted_ , even. _Ignored, forgotten,_ and _thrown_ _away_ all sat comfortably with him. That was how they’d been living for months now. But _enemies?_

There was no need to go so far. As long as they kept their heads down and their noses out of trouble, they were free here. To be forgotten meant freedom. The blacksmith was kind, but he had a few loose ingots in his head if he thought enemies of the Magerium were friends. 

Lance politely sidestepped the conversation. “They won’t care about one lost lesser potion’s master. They seem to leave you well enough alone.”

“They’d have to find me to do anything about me,” the blacksmith huffed. He was interrupted by Keith bringing over the first dagger he’d picked up upon their arrival - the one with the wine-colored leather and, on closer inspection, three inlaid globes of turquoise glass. 

“I like this one best,” he admitted, showing it to Lance. “You’re sure this is alright?”

“How much?” Lance asked the blacksmith instead.

He shrugged. “For you, 12 sil’.”

“And with the glasses; the magicked ones?”

“Make it an even 15.”

Lance sent a wave of comfort to Keith as he passed over the coins. “I lost my first pair in that same fire. Seriously, who knew dragons were allergic to dusksilt?”

Keith groaned. “Why do you tell that to everyone we meet? I’ll never get over the embarrassment this way.”

Lance chuckled. “It’s cute.”

“Aha,” the blacksmith grinned. “Knew you couldn’t be a bear or basilisk or anything like that. A dragon, huh? You must be one hells of a magi.”

Before Lance could answer, Keith puffed his chest and smirked. “He is.”

“A good magi wouldn’t have gotten you exiled.” 

Keith waved him off. “Oh, who cares. This is way more fun.”

The blacksmith laughed and handed over their purchases, both wrapped in a soft, protective cloth. “He’s got a point.” 

“Now come on.” Keith grabbed Lance by the wrist and tugged. “I’m starving.”

Lance stumbled along with Keith, but he turned enough to bow slightly at the blacksmith. “Stars illuminate, earth mage.”

The blacksmith waved. “Be careful out there.” 

They were beyond earshot of the shop before Keith huffed and slowed down. “Sort of an ominous way to say goodbye, wasn’t it?”

“I was hoping for a blessing from a fellow magi, but apparently he’s too much like the locals now.” Lance sighed and shifted so that Keith was holding his hand instead. 

It made Keith trip over a step, but he covered it up well enough by tugging Lance a little closer. 

Lance nodded at the knife, now nestled snugly in between his bottles of bath oil. “What’s so special about that knife, anyway? I thought you preferred your claws.”

“Oh.” Keith grinned “Well, sure, it’s easier that way of course. But...alright, you’re going to think this is silly.”

“I won’t, I swear on the stars.”

“Shiro had a really nice dagger that Adam gave him before I hatched. I always thought it was the neatest thing, but he never let me hold it. Couldn’t even  _ touch  _ it. Adam always caught me before I actually got a hold of it, and would find someplace new to hide it. After a while, I just started trying to find it on principle. But I liked the idea of having one of my own, and this way, it’s like you gave it to me. Plus,” he added, ducking his head and mumbling. “The blue is the same color as your eyes.” 

Under the cloth, Lance couldn’t see the blue gems, but he was sure that his eyes were nowhere near that bright. “May I see it?” 

Keith nodded, setting the crate down. He unwrapped the dagger and passed it over, though he couldn’t meet Lance’s eyes as he did. 

Lance took it with care, running his thumb over a blue stone. "It's beautiful." It was sort of a shame. If he'd known beforehand, he would have gotten one for Keith as a surprise. 

There wasn't much he could do about that now. Unless...

He was no earth mage, but there was mana already infused in the cut stones and filed blade. If Lance just… 

He stroked his thumb across the stone in circles, stirring the thin vein of power inside until it began to swirl. As he did, he pushed some of his own mana into the glass to join it. When he was done, all three inlaid baubles glowed with his own internal shade of ocean blue.

"There. It isn't much, but." Lance passed the knife back, handle first. "I hope it's enough." 

The gleam of ember-gold behind Keith’s eyes as he smiled was a clear answer. “Yes! Yeah, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s perfect.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. He’d given things to Keith before, but back then, their bond had been a thin, gasping thing. He hadn’t been able to  _ feel  _ Keith’s joy the way he could now, bubbling up from where their mana met. 

Keith watched him for another moment, licked his lips, and shot forward. Lance barely had time to register the warm press of Keith’s lips on his cheek before he’d retreated.

“Thanks, Lance.” 

Lance touched the back of his hand to his cheek. His skin was radiating heat right where Keith’s lips had lingered, which wasn’t terribly surprising. The question was whether it was from his growing blush, or if that was what it would always be like to receive a kiss from a Northern Red. 

Perhaps with luck - and a well-written Letter of Nine - he would have the chance to find out. 

~🍄~

Given that they had run out of things to sell and with all their winter necessities purchased, they both opted to head home on the earlier side. It wasn’t a long ride to begin with, and Lance had mentioned stopping by Abigail’s farm on the way back to pay a visit to Caleb while returning their mule. Keith chose to part ways with him to prepare dinner. Where normally they may have simply waved and said goodbye, this time they lingered at the crossroads, shuffling and avoiding direct eye contact. 

Something had changed for them in town; Lance could feel it. Whatever state their relationship had been in when they left now felt as if it stood on the very edge of a precipice, as if they were about to take that one step that would alter their worlds forever. Would he fall or fly?

The answer was terrifying.

It was exhilarating. 

“Well,” Keith hedged. “Don’t take too long. You won’t have me to keep you warm on the way back.”

Lance nodded, stepped forward, then shuffled back, hands swinging awkwardly at his sides. “Be sure to check on Parsnip. She’s been alone all day.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will. Um.” He tilted his head and smiled hesitantly. “Be safe.”

Why did it feel like more should be happening? Why now and not before? Lance wiped his hands on his cloak so that he wouldn’t grab Keith. “I will. It’s not like the Deepmist is full of wolves or anything, and Abigail is close. The most that can attack me is a little late-season humidity.”

“Right. Okay.” Keith’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Bye, then.”

He took a step back, eyes still trained on Lance for as long as possible, before turning and walking away - though he stumbled over a branch as he did. 

Watching Keith leave without doing something about it made his heart ache. Without even thinking about what he was about to do, Lance called out, “Wait, Keith!”

Immediately, Keith whipped his head around. “Yeah?”

Lance jogged up to him, one thing on his mind: Keith’s lips on his cheek. He could still feel the warmth of them lingering there. Between them, he could feel the spark of anticipation, a honey-warm tingle that pulled him forward.

When he caught up to Keith, he leaned in almost without thought. Keith’s eyes were wide and luminous in the early fall of twilight, and they searched between Lance’s with growing realization. 

Before Lance could close the gap between them, Annalys’ words rang in his head -  _ check the bond _ . 

So close. He was  _ so close _ ; just a little further and Lance could capture that feeling again, but a quick probe at their connection revealed the same internal struggle he’d sensed in the Inn: Keith swinging back and forth between  _ Want  _ and  _ Wait  _ faster than a metronome. 

He couldn’t -  _ shouldn’t- _ like this. The letter first, he told himself, and then everything in order; that was what Keith wanted. Panicking, Lance patted Keith’s cheek right where he wanted to kiss him. “Goodbye, and Stars keep,” he said in time to his pats.

If ever Lance had seen Keith confused before, it paled in comparison to how thoroughly baffled he was now, as if he’d just watched his Master sprout an extra head. Or twelve. Twelve heads, covered in Mogmire muck. 

“Um.” He just...blinked. Stared at Lance. Blinked again. “You, uh, too, I...guess…?”

“Good. Yes. I’m glad to finally be blessed properly. That’s all.” Lance was still too close. Everything smelled like green and smoke; a mix of forest and Keith. He took a few careful steps back. “I’ll see you at home. Later. Soon. See you home. I mean, no I’m not, because I’m leaving. In that direction, where home is not, and where you are not going.” Oh, stars. Letting his mouth run any longer would be an insult to them both. “Bye!” 

“...Yeah.” Keith was still staring. “Bye.”

Lance ran. There was nothing else to do  _ except _ run from his own embarrassment. For once, he welcomed the mist as it cooled his burning cheeks and clung heavy to his cloak. Water was his element after all, and tonight he wanted to dissolve in it. 

~🍄~

There were indeed no wolves, only the tangle of feelings that chased him all the way to Abigail’s. 

Caleb was a good distraction from his turbulent thoughts. Lance ignored the bond, strung tight and tugging at him over the distance, in favor of giving the young mage a small test. Make clouds - that was it - not too dark, but enough to shade their farm. It would require coalescing his mana in a way he wasn’t ordinarily required to do, which kept Caleb quiet and allowed Lance to  _ not _ -brood-thank-you-very-much in peace. 

“Are you alright?”

Caleb’s voice dragged Lance back from where he’d been subconsciously following the bond for the third time in a quarter candlemark. 

“Hm?” Lance stared up at the cloud cover. “Yes, that’s alright, though it could be a little denser.” 

“No, I mean -” Wordlessly, Caleb pointed at the mushroom beside Lance, which had grown to an alarming and bulbous six feet or so.

“Oh.” Its heavy head bent to the ground and Lance understood how it felt. “Don’t worry about those; concentrate on your cloud cover.” He pressed the water back into the earth and watched the casing shrivel in on itself before turning into a puddle. 

“...Right.” 

Despite his pubescent sass, Caleb was a ready pupil and Lance enjoyed the distraction. For the remainder of their lesson, they shuffled through the phases of the storm, concentrating on the direction of the rainfall. Lance only had to intercede once when a lightning bolt almost hit one of the cows. The poor creature was a little wetter then she probably preferred, but at least she wasn't singed. 

Altogether, Caleb was making more progress than Lance had expected. Storm magic was, after all, more complicated than pure elemental magic like his own, but it was necessary to master if the boy didn’t want to cause a blizzard every time he got angry or a downpour when he cried. 

Despite finding comfort in the distraction of teaching, it was still exhausting work for the tail end of a long day. He was grateful when Abigail sent Caleb to finish his evening chores, pushing a basket of muffins and fresh cider into Lance’s arms for his trip home. She walked him to the edge of the forest and left him with a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Next time, make sure you bring your mate. He wouldn’t stop bothering me the last time you two were here until I promised to teach him to make those lemon tarts you liked so much. I bought plenty, in case he messes up the first three batches again.”

“He did?” Lance had no recollection of Keith learning to bake nor messing said process up enough to warrant two additional failures. 

Abigail giggled. “Of course not. He’d be furious if he knew I told you.” 

“It’ll be our secret, then.” But Lance couldn’t erase the surprise off his face long enough to smile. Keith had been learning how to bake his favorite tarts this whole time. All those days he left to ‘help Abigail’...were they all for this? 

“It better be!”

Once the glow of Abby’s cottage had disappeared and only fireflies were lighting his path, Lance was free to increase his pace without looking over-eager to be home. Leaves crunched under his slippers, but he had no fear of tripping. Unlike their first time in the Deepmist, when everything was foreign, the dense canopy and ancient tree trunks were as familiar to him now as the halls of the Magerium. 

Better even, because _home_ had become _Keith_. Keith to whom the invisible thread of their bond always led. Lance practically grabbed it as he ran the final sprint towards the light between the trees. 

The yellow glow of their cabin was as welcoming as it was out of place in the oppressive dark of the forest. He stumbled to a halt at the edge of the light, the wool of his cloak clinging to his back and his hair dripping with mist...but he was  _ home.  _

Home to Keith, Parsnip, and their little garden. Home to his potions, books, and bed. Lance breathed in the warm, earthy scent of dinner boiling away inside. All of it beckoned to him. 

Yet, Lance hovered in the shadows. Keith’s kiss and his own almost-kiss were still heavy on his mind like the mist weighing down his cloak. 

There was no denying that he wanted it, not anymore. It was a furnace inside him that sent him boiling over in the dead of night and had almost caused him to slip up twice that day. If he couldn’t keep himself in check, what kind of courtship would that lead to? 

He had to finish the letter. He had to do this the correct and proper way. His familiar deserved that sort of respect and courtesy, and right now, his own inertia was the only thing holding them back. 

Lance stepped out of the shadow and into the yellow hearth light spilling from the windows. 

Just as he’d scrounged up the courage to go inside, he stopped. Something was off. 

Glancing around, he tried to parse out what was nagging at him. Their little garden was tended to, so that wasn’t it. Parsnip’s troughs were both full…

Lance took a few more steps until he realized what it was: music. Music coming from somewhere close by. It was faint and muffled, but it was definitely the sound of strings being plucked. Not quite a song, but idle scales for sure. 

Without thinking, Lance’s feet turned him away from the welcoming light of their house and his waiting dinner. He followed the music like a sailor strung along by a siren. 

The scales paused and the playing picked back up with a melody. It was vaguely familiar, something Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on, the lyrics hanging off the tip of his tongue. 

It nagged at him even further once he heard Keith begin to hum along. Maybe Keith had hummed this song before and that was how he knew it? He tended to hum this or that while he was cooking or working in the garden, though none of the little ditties had ever seemed to be anything in particular. At least nothing Lance ever recognized. Not like this. 

Lance followed the music around until he was standing in front of Keith’s workshop...and paused. 

This was Keith’s personal space, after all, and while it wasn’t as if Keith had ever forbade him from entering, it only seemed respectful to allow his familiar a place to be alone. Entering uninvited would feel like a violation of sorts. 

Just a quick peek, he told himself, dinner was growing cold after all. In and out, and then he’d leave Keith alone. 

Lance opened the door as quietly as he could, unsure if it was going to squeak on him. Lucky for him it opened as silent as a mouse in a cupboard.

Keith’s workshop was a modest shack more than anything else but it was tidy and well-organized. There were even a few small lobelia bushes leftover from his birthday gift still stubbornly growing in the windowsill. They didn’t twinkle like the ones in his pool, but they were still doing a decent job of withstanding the encroaching cold. 

Sat in the middle, leaning against his workbench, was Keith. He’d unbraided his hair and changed into one of the buttery-soft burgundy tunics he wore around the house. It made him look relaxed and soft in a way he hadn’t been while in town.

In Gernfal, he was Lance’s dragon. Here, he was just Keith. And just Keith, with the candlelight on his hair and a serene expression on his face, was beautiful.  _ Just Keith _ was all Lance ever wanted to see again. 

After a few more slow chords, Keith’s voice picked up where his humming had left off. It was a low, husky sort of singing voice, dark and sweet as cherry wine. 

“ _ Brown is the color of my true love’s hair _

_ His lips are like some wondrous fare _

_ With the prettiest face and the gentlest hands _

_ I love the ground whereon he stands.” _

Lance froze in the doorway, memories from his half-forgotten childhood crashing around him. His father singing to his mother and sweeping her into his arms as they danced around their tiny house, his mother humming as she danced alone while his father was at sea, and her lonely singing floating through the house late at night.

_ “I love my love and well he knows _

_ I love the ground whereon he goes _

_ I’ll count my life as well begun _

_ When he and I can be as one.”  _

The song clashed with the lyrics in his head. Keith was changing them - at least, changing them from what his parents sang. It was only a few things - pronouns, colors - just enough to snag and catch his attention. That was, until the next verse, which Lance had most assuredly never heard before. 

“ _ Blue is the color of my true love’s eyes _

_ The rain that falls or tides that rise _

_ He looks my way, I come unbound _

_ For in his eyes I’ve gladly drowned-”  _

“That’s not how it goes.”

The song came to an unceremonious, unattractive halt as Keith jumped and scraped his claws along the strings. The sound from his throat was even more noteworthy. Not since the spider’s legs had Lance heard his dragon make  _ that _ kind of startled, high-pitched squeal. 

Keith was decidedly red when he whirled around to glare at Lance. “What in all  _ nine hells _ \- don’t - don’t  _ do  _ that, what if I lit you on fire?!”

Lance bit his lip to keep from laughing. Poor Keith. At least he didn’t seem mad. Still, the threat was as lethal as a toothless kitten. “You wouldn’t.”

Keith glared. “It’s tempting.”

Despite Keith’s threats, Lance could tell he had the upper hand. The same upper hand he’d wielded for most of the day. He leaned against the frame and pitched his voice to sound innocently curious.“You know, my father used to sing that song too.”

“Oh?” Keith fished around on the table behind him until he found a rag, and began polishing the lute as if that was what he’d been doing all along.

Lance hummed. “When he sang it, though, it was about a woman with black hair. I don’t remember her having blue eyes.”

“...It’s a popular song. Probably lots of variations.”

“True, but,” Lance said, pushing off the door frame and crossing the room. He ran a finger down the strings of Keith’s lute, plucking them one by one. “It seems like you’ve been fixated on blue eyes today.”

“Wh-” Keith spluttered. “ _ No.  _ I just - I was - why were you listening, anyway?!”

Lance plucked another string just to have Keith snatch it away. He smirked and clasped his hands behind his back. “Because you have a nice voice.” 

The way Keith was squirming was absolutely delightful. “...Oh. Ah. Thank you.”

Backing up a few steps, Lance blinked his blue eyes - the ones that Keith seemed almost obsessed over. “Sing for me tonight after dinner?”

Keith pressed his lips together skeptically. “...Why?”

“I already told you.” Lance was completely unable to hide his smile. Flirting was a lot more fun than he’d ever thought it could be. “I like your voice.”

He’d seen Keith disgruntled, he’d seen Keith flustered, he’d seen him ruffled and bemused and  _ stars _ , he’d even seen Keith cry, but in all their months together, he’d never seen Keith become outright  _ shy.  _ He dipped his head and fiddled with the neck of the lute, looking anywhere and everywhere but directly at Lance. He even dragged the tip of his tail through the dirt like he was scribbling. 

“If.” Keith swallowed and started over, clearing his throat. “If that’s what you want, then...okay. Yeah. Sure. I’ll...do that. For, um. You.” 

Lance’s cheeks hurt he was grinning so hard. “Then I’ll see you at dinner.” He pulled the door closed, leaving Keith as red as his scales.

~🍄~

Dinner, at least, was normal. Lance certainly hadn’t expected a day at the market to be full of so many emotional ups and downs, and it was nice to finally just sit in the quiet intimacy of their cozy little cottage. The fire, as always, was bright and cheerful, never needing replenishing as long as Keith was awake. They ate in comfortable silence, content to rest and feel each other through the bond. 

Keith managed to put off singing for Lance all the way until after dessert, but once they’d finished the last of their cherry crumble and tea, there was nothing else he could find to do. Resigned, he settled in front of the fireplace and tuned the lute self-consciously. 

“You’re sure you want to hear this? It isn’t the easiest thing to do, you know, playing with claws. I’ll probably mangle anything you ask me to play.” 

“You sounded fine before.” Lance sat in the only good chair. They really needed to get a second one, but these things always took so much time.

Sighing, Keith adjusted his position and looked up at Lance with a wry smile. “Alright then - what do you want to hear?” 

Lance took a moment to tuck one of Keith’s stray hairs behind his ear. “Anything. Everything.”

Whether he meant to or if it was on instinct, Keith leaned a little into Lance’s touch. “Okay. Well...this one is Adam’s favorite.”

He sang for the better part of a candlemark - traditional folk songs everyone would know, love songs Lance hadn’t heard in years, and one or two things that were completely new to him. As he sang, Keith relaxed, and his voice grew stronger and more confident. They blended together, one song into the next, until their whole cottage was filled with firelight and the sweet mulberry wine of Keith’s voice. Even when he started to tire out and the melody cracked now and then, it didn’t lessen the steady thrum of honey-gold Lance could feel through their bond. Whenever Keith’s eyes met his and he smiled, showing off the slightly crooked point of one of his fangs, that unnamed gold emotion fluttered stronger, like butterflies in his pulse. 

Lance had intended to sit back and listen, relaxing by the fire. Instead, he was on the edge of his seat, drinking it all in. When the last string settled, Lance let out a breath, as if Keith had stolen it through the notes in the air. 

He’d been right; something about today had changed them. 

“Keith,” he whispered, scared to break the spell hovering around them.

Keith’s face was perfectly serene as he smiled up at Lance and held out his hand. “Give me your hand, Lance.”

Lance had to pry his fingers off the wood. His whole body was stiff and clumsy; it was embarrassing when Keith still seemed so in control. Lance was a plucked string, vibrating from the electric energy in the air.

He held his hand, slightly shaking and awkward, between them.

Keith’s eyes never left his as he took Lance’s hand, pulling him close and slowly, painfully slowly, pressing a kiss to each knuckle in turn.

One by one, he went down the line, his lips trailing as he moved so that they never lost contact with Lance’s skin. His breath was warmer than any human’s, but as always, it was nothing but feather-light and sweet where it touched him. 

Keith hovered over the last knuckle once he’d kissed it, raising his gaze and locking onto Lance with the light of an exploding star behind his eyes. 

And then he winked. 

Lance’s heart stopped.

“I just thought it would be appropriate to mark the day we lost my collar the same way we marked it going on,” Keith explained with a nonchalant shrug.

“The same?” His brain was still stuck replaying the feel of Keith’s lips and breath across his skin.

“Sure. They made me kiss your hand, remember? You thought I was being forced, but actually, it was more like a reward. I had no idea if I would ever be allowed to do it again.” Keith grinned. “Guess I got lucky.” 

Every hair on the back of his neck raised, each one pricking up as they traveled down his arms. 

Lance had known. For how long, he wasn’t sure, but he’d known how he’d felt deep down inside where he didn’t dare let himself look. But now, in the light of the hearth fire and in the glow of Keith’s eyes, he couldn’t deny his feelings for what they were. 

Love.

He was in love with Keith.

“Keith, I-”

“Mmm?” 

“ - I know what I’m going to write.”

Keith blinked. “Huh?”

"Tomorrow. Give me until tomorrow and you'll have your answer." Lance squeezed Keith's hand. "Please." 

“My answer to what? What are you talking about?”

Lance brought their joined hands up to his lips and kissed their crossed fingers. “Tomorrow, love. For tonight, let me stay while you sleep.” 

There was a rush of air as Keith’s wings shot up, and his tail thumped against the legs of Lance’s chair. He looked completely gobsmacked. “But…” he protested, and the bond made it clear he had no idea what it was he was protesting. 

"Sleep now." One last kiss to their combined hands and then Lance let go. "I need to prepare for the morning. Just…trust me." 

“...Alright.”

Clearly, Keith had more he wanted to say, more he wanted to ask. His eyes searched Lance’s for another few seconds before he stood and made for the stairs. Halfway up, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Wake me if you need me.”

Lance nodded, holding Keith’s gaze. “I will.”

Reluctantly, Keith tore his eyes away and disappeared into the loft. Though he was out of sight, the bond probed at Lance’s mind, tentative and confused, as if Keith was reaching for his hand. 

Lance did his best to send comforting waves back as he pulled out his best quill, the nib still sharp. Cutting a strip of parchment from a roll, he sat down at the table. The words came easy and swift as he poured his heart out in ink over yellowed paper. 

Tomorrow held all the possibilities of his lifetime. The sun couldn’t wake fast enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANNOUNCEMENT! We are running an interest check for a zine of our Mothman AU, Lamplight! The zine will feature additional art by Pretzellus, including comic pages, as well as new scenes! There is also an additional NSFW add-on with entirely new content!   
> If you're also a fan of Lamplight please [fill out the interest check](https://forms.gle/mC5FDchy4TEVPHNm7)
> 
> Autumn: Go Lance! You got this! Wooo! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this cozy cottagecore intro ❤️ (Well, except for the intro to the intro, but, y’know). 
> 
> I’d also like to say: I can’t express to you how much we love and appreciate every comment we get. I know I’m atrocious at responding, but Sail and I both agreed that we always want to take our time and reply with something equally meaningful. The result is that our ADHD selves forget to do so, and now I have 900-something comments in my inbox from the last year. I WILL be better about it this time because I want you all to know how valued you are! 
> 
> Sail: I hope you liked ch1! it was really nice getting back into this fic and we can't wait to get into all the awkward romance and political intrigue!!! 
> 
> Like what we do? Let's hang out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our [Lamplight Zine, a Klance Mothman AU](https://twitter.com/LamplightZine) collaboration with pretzellus is under production, please follow for updates and answers to your questions!
> 
> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🍄~

Star Fallen

Chapter 2 

_Starbound and starblessed, in my arms you are kept_

_For my heart is in every home_

_If you keep my hearth burning, through longing and yearning_

_Together, you’re never alone_

**Annals of the Embrace, Song of Mairo, path φ**. 

  
  


~🍄~

Lance could taste the salt on his lips, the taste of home and childhood, mingling just under the bitter notes of his tea. 

He licked the salt from the corners of his mouth and went back to writing. A few more words in ink later and he heard the rush of waves, a gentle susurrus marked now and then by the squawk of seagulls. Lance rubbed his eyes, the tip of his quill tickling his nose. 

Maybe the candlelight was getting to him. It was late, and he was on the fourth draft of his Letter of Nine. It had been quite a while since he’d sat down, maybe if he stretched for a bit he’d - 

“Lance.” 

He jumped, covering his letter, but his dragon was nowhere in sight.

It was Keith’s voice, but it wasn’t coming from anywhere in particular - certainly not from the loft bedroom above. It seemed like it was behind him, in front of him, within him, whispering in his ear without any sound at all.

Lance shook his head, willing his eyes to adjust and his ears to focus on the crackling hearth.

“Lance!” it came again. “You’re not answering the question. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Lance turned, but didn’t move from the table. Yet there he was, seawater up to his waist and the sun shining in his eyes. 

“I don’t have to answer if you don’t jump in,” he didn’t say, but the words vibrated in his chest nonetheless.

Keith glanced down at him from where he was poised on the very end of the pier, tail moving in the sinuous thrash that always betrayed him as being nervous. 

“It’s a simple question,” he grunted. “Are there or are there not very large creatures in this water within any kind of close proximity? I don’t care if they’re predatory; are they _big?_ ”

“You’re telling me that you, a dragon, one of the most fierce creatures in all of Belwald, is scared of a few fish?” Lance laughed, falling back into the next wave. It washed over his tunic and wet his parchment, but the tea stayed perfectly still on the table.

“There’s a difference,” Keith snapped back, “between being scared, and being _prepared._ Not all of us are water mages, Water Mage. I don’t ask you to leap blindly into the fireplace, do I?”

The bond pulsed with Keith’s nerves, along with the rumble of his snoring. 

Keith was asleep; this was a dream. 

Lance put his quill down and sat back in the chair. Things had certainly changed if they were sharing dreams to this extent. Even when he’d experienced Keith’s dream about them kissing, there had been a distinct line between that and reality. This level of bleed-through was astounding.

He closed his eyes and let the dream carry him away.

The sun drew reflective patterns over his skin that rippled with the tide. He had a strange moment of vertigo where he could see the dappling that the sun caused for what it was: just a trick of the light. Yet, at the same time, he ‘saw’ it on himself in a way that wasn’t quite _seeing_ \- his eyes a much brighter blue than usual, his smile wider than he recalled, and the swirl of color against his skin as something jewel-like and ethereal. It took him a few more moments to realize that the bizarre double-vision was a result of experiencing himself as Keith saw him. 

“It’s fine, Keith. There are no sea monsters - just you, me, and the fishes. Stop worrying about your wings getting wet and join me already.” He splashed at Keith but it didn’t make it anywhere near his familiar. 

He watched Keith - dream-Keith - glance down into the water and back up at Lance. A shift in his expression melted the nervous grimace into something far more peaceful. He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t care about my wings if it means getting to be with you. If you want me beside you, I’ll jump in.”

“Do it,” both he and dream-Lance said at the same time. Touching his lips, he felt the ebb and flow of his breath, hot and humid against his skin. He’d meant it, wished it was real. Wished it was himself, and not a figment of Keith’s subconscious that opened his arms as Keith took a deep breath, folded his wings in tight, and jumped.

It wasn’t graceful or elegant in the slightest. In fact, he missed Lance’s arms entirely. Keith gasped when he surfaced, scrabbling his way onto Lance’s chest with a curtain of hair hiding his eyes.

Lance pushed it aside, though he could only feel it through the bond and not against his own fingertips. Even as his dreamself was smiling, Lance frowned, almost desperate to know what those wet strands felt like as he tucked them behind Keith’s ear. 

“Welcome home,” he murmured. 

The giddy ripple he felt from Keith came to him two-fold, once in the dream and once along their actual bond. Around them, the water darkened from crystal blue to sweet violet, and it made Keith’s eyes shine all the brighter for the contrast. Quite happily, he wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck and nestled his head on Lance’s shoulder, content to be carried to save himself the agony of swimming. 

“What are you talking about? I’ve been home since I met you.” Keith flicked the tip of Lance’s nose. “Idiot.” 

Lance’s fingers moved continuously through Keith’s long hair, untangling the braid to float in the waves. “You’ve waited a long time.” 

“Mmm,” Keith agreed, using his hold around Lance’s neck to pull him closer. His touch was colder than normal from the chill of the ocean, but the light, pleasant scratch of his claws felt at once all too familiar and still nowhere near enough. “I’ve been ready for a long time. I’ve only been waiting for you to catch up.”

It was difficult to get his bearings in this half-trance, hard to know exactly who was holding whom. All Lance knew was that they were infinitely closer than they’d ever been. 

Then, all at once, the sea washed away, the tide receding into pillows and blankets. The familiar wooden walls of their own room enclosed them both in its cozy, intimate hold. Keith’s golden eyes lidded as a clawed hand cupped the back of Lance’s head with such tenderness that Lance leaned into it and hit the back of his chair.

He sucked in a breath and slammed down on the connection right before their lips met.

That was too private and too painful. If they were going to kiss, Lance wanted it to be real. 

In the light of their common room, alone as Keith’s snores filled the house, Lance sat back and touched his lips. He knew what Keith smelled like - spice and smoke, he always had - yet the dream had tasted like seasalt and honey mead? Was that what Keith actually tasted like? 

Lance wasn’t sure how many candlemarks passed as he twirled the quill in between his fingers, replaying Keith’s dream. 

_I’ve only been waiting for you._

All that hesitation he’d felt at the market that day was because of himself. Keith was as worried about overstepping as Lance was about doing something wrong. And that was completely ludicrous. Keith couldn’t do that if he tried. He was - he was _everything_ to Lance, so there was no reason they shouldn’t -

...Oh.

That...that was it, wasn’t it? That was exactly what he needed to write, the thing he’d been stumbling over, trying to transfigure it into something poetic and pretty when all Keith really needed to hear was - 

Lance tore another sheet of parchment. This time, though, he knew it would be the last one he needed.

~🍄~

The sun was still behind the mountains, which meant the Deepmist was quiet and dark, but the morning birds were stirring as Lance sealed the letter with wax. He had no official seal, so he pressed it with the bottom of a potion bottle. The ridges looked almost fancy, even if it wasn’t a personal monogram the way it should be. 

Holding the letter to his chest, Lance climbed the stairs to their room. Every creaking step birthed a new butterfly inside him to play havoc with his heart, and more than once he had to pause. 

Swallow his nausea. Remember to breathe.

Remind himself of what was waiting there for him, dreaming of him, a few short feet away.

Without Lance in bed, Keith had apparently been pretty liberal with taking up space. He was sprawled diagonally across the mattress, his wings splayed out under him and his tail twitching and thumping in his sleep. He wasn’t snoring, but now and then he did snuffle and a little curl of smoke would rise into the air. 

Lance tiptoed across the room, only to hover over his dragon. Dark hair curled at the ends, framing Keith’s face and cascading down the mattress. Before he even realized what he was doing, Lance brushed a stray strand from Keith’s eyes, as he’d ached to do since the dream. 

He must not have been too deeply asleep, because Keith stirred at the soft touch. He blinked a few times and wiggled his nose, rubbing it to clear the residual soot.

“Ms-rr?” he mumbled. “Coming t’bed?”

_Oh no._ Staring at Lance upside down and disoriented, Keith was gorgeous. Lance traced the outline of his face, from his widow’s peak down to his sharp jaw. The letter crinkled in his fingers. 

“Sorry for waking you.”

“S’fine, I’ll move,” is what Keith said, but what he did was lean heavily into Lance’s touch, practically nuzzling his palm as he drifted towards sleep once more. 

Lance ran his thumb over Keith’s burning cheek. “Actually, can I speak with you for a moment? I know it’s early…”

“Hnn?” Keith murmured, then, “Oh - yes, yeah, sure.”

He rubbed his eyes, sitting up and frowning at Lance as he straightened his tunic. “M’awake. What’s the matter?”

Lance joined him on the bed, shifting nervously to find a comfortable distance. 

“Nothing; nothing’s the matter.” So why was he getting Keith up before the sun? He was worrying him for no reason, and now he was struggling to go through with his plan. 

The parchment crumpled in his grip. Lance stared down at it in surprise as if it had done so on its own. 

Keith followed his gaze. “What’s that?”

“This? It’s...well, it’s a letter.” Lance opened his hand, his stiff fingers finally freeing the abused paper.

“Oh! From Shiro? Finally.” Keith took it from him and popped the seal open. “Took him long enough,” he murmured. “Right as I really was starting to...to…”

He fell silent. 

Lance took a deep breath. “It’s not from Shiro.” 

“...Oh.”

In the darkness of early dawn, Lance studied Keith’s face, desperate to know what every movement meant as he read. It was largely neutral, except for the slight pinch between his brows, giving Lance nothing to go off of. 

The bond was shimmering glass so Lance whispered to keep it from shattering. “Do you know what it is?” 

“No,” Keith admitted, quiet and breathless. “But I...I’d really like you to tell me.”

The covers itched under his palms and the birds were too loud to think. Lance licked his lips and then licked them again. “It’s not very traditionally written; that’s probably why you can’t recognize it.” He swallowed, but his heart was lodged in his throat. “It’s...it’s a Letter of Nine. For you. If you’ll accept it.”

Keith looked up at him, his eyes soft and sleepy, glowing faintly in the predawn. “What is a letter of nine…?”

A full explanation with history and scripture were poised on his tongue, but his mouth refused to move. He reached out with tentative threads through the crystal of the bond, as if he were asking for permission to answer his own way.

The bond expanded completely, Keith’s mana welcoming him in like an embrace. 

“There are many people who will never approve of us and many more who won’t understand. Knowing that even the Goddesses themselves shun us, I can’t deny what you are to me.” Lance turned to the letter, too scared to meet Keith’s eyes. He ran a finger down the ink to remember the version of himself who had been brave enough to write these words. “And I want us to be more. I want to officially, or as officially as I can, court you. I’m asking you to be my starbound.”

Even if they hadn’t been connected, Lance wouldn’t have been able to escape the onslaught of feeling his words prompted. It rolled across them both, a wave that swelled and crashed with happiness. Keith’s smile was so wide it crinkled his eyes and brought out a dimple Lance had never seen. 

“Let me be sure I understand,” Keith said slowly, eyes twinkling. “You sat up all night...to write me an _official letter_...to ask me to be your...lover?”

Lance sat up straighter, shoulders squared as he looked Keith in the eye. “ _Starbound_ , but yes...although that’s a very unromantic way to put it. I’m asking you to be mine in the eyes of the goddesses, despite how they…”

Lance shook his head. If he dwelled on the hypocrisy of what he was doing for too long, he might lose his nerve. 

“I’m sorry there’s no monogram on the seal, and I wish it was on vellum, as is proper, instead of our cheap parchment. You deserve better. You deserve the best. Instead, I’m asking if you’ll have me.” 

“Ah, Lance.” 

Keith turned to face him completely, his hair disheveled and his sleep shirt hanging askew. He cupped Lance’s face with both hands and brought their foreheads together.

“I do deserve the best - so I _chose you_.”

_Lies,_ the dark recesses inside him hissed. Lance closed his eyes against the bright gold of Keith’s as he pushed down his insecurities. Avoidance was always best. “That’s not how you’re supposed to reply.”

“...Oh. Uh. S...stars...illuminate?”

“Is that really the best thing you could come up with?” Snorting, Lance shook his head, which resulted in their noses rubbing. “Nevermind, forget tradition.” 

He opened his eyes and pulled Keith onto his lap. Though he could still feel everything Keith was feeling in their bond, his dragon’s face had gone blank with shock at this new position. 

“Tell me your answer; from your heart.”

“Uhh…” Keith stammered, then shook his head. “Yes - yeah. Yes! I mean…” 

He leaned in, brushing the pad of his thumb across Lance’s cheekbone. Even if he hadn’t spoken, even if they hadn’t been bonded, the ardor and heat and _want_ in Keith’s eyes would have told Lance everything he needed. 

“I _mean_ ,” Keith tried again, his voice thick, as if he’d swallowed every last grain of sand in the Burning Wastes. “That I have never wanted anything more. So - _yes_.”

Lance let the bond wash over him, let himself melt into Keith, let his worries sink back into the dark recesses of his mind. All except one. "The Magerium will never recognize our courtship and if the Magerium won’t, no one will..." 

Keith scoffed derisively. “The Magerium doesn’t even recognize me as a person. The only approval I need is from you.”

"I love you, Keith, more than all the stars," Lance said, quoting his own letter. "I-" 

It came out as half a whisper. He couldn’t help the way his eyes flicked down to Keith's red lips. In response, Keith made a soft keening sound and leaned in, nuzzling at Lance with his nose and letting out a shuddery breath. It was a desperate little noise - Keith didn’t even seem to realize he’d done it - but there was more need in it than anything he’d just said.

Lance froze on the precipice. 

Between them a coil of red nudged its way under the current of emotions flowing between them. It was a small, tentative knocking at his internal door and Lance would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so in tune to everything Keith. Behind the shy thread, he could sense the storm of want Keith was struggling to hold at bay. 

Never again, Lance vowed to himself. Never again would Keith have to hold himself back or question his place at Lance’s side. They were tied together through bond and love, by fate and by choice, and not even the Goddesses could break them apart. 

Lance opened up completely, letting the bond flow seamlessly between them as if they were one. No beginning and no end; just one whole. With his tiny pool of mana, Lance did his best to wrap it around Keith like a blanket - pure magic with no form that shifted purple wherever it touched Keith. 

“I’m yours,” he said against Keith’s lips before taking them for his own.

Keith kissed the same way he did anything else - as a quick and single minded study. The first two kisses were little more than chaste presses, Keith sliding his lips along Lance’s to test him out and let their breath mingle. Then his patience waned and he dove in, tilting his head to fit them together completely. His hands were trembling where they cradled Lance’s face, the points of his claws barely starting to put pressure on Lance’s skin. 

Lance was immediately swept away. It was nothing like the small pecks on his hands or cheeks. They were connected physically, from the rough homespun of Keith’s shirt under his fingers to the heat of Keith’s lips pressing against his own, filling Lance’s mouth with smoke. It was soul shattering.

He ignored the curl of guilt twisting his stomach and the voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounded a lot like Elder Greeve warning him of the grave consequences of his actions. Lance pushed it all down in favor of running his hands over the loose fabric of Keith’s tunic. He concentrated on the feel and taste of Keith, like a warm hearth that beckoned him closer. 

And the _noises_. 

Lance had never heard such sounds. Needy whines and a constant soft purr that grew with every caress. It was as addicting as the spice-heavy taste of his mouth. Soon, it had deepened into a rumble that vibrated the pads of Lance’s fingers wherever he touched Keith’s skin. 

They broke long enough for Keith to gasp his name, wetting his lips with his forked tongue. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in air, though the grumble-purr never stopped. Behind him, his tail cut patterns in the air as it wagged. 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Keith commanded.

Lance ran his knuckles over Keith’s cheek. Morning light glinted off his golden horns and sent strands of blackberry through his hair. He traveled up across the cheekbone to tuck some hair behind Keith’s ear, only to follow it down and pull it over his shoulder to twirl around his fingers. 

“Normally, there’d be a month of gifts before I could kiss you,” Lance said, kissing the corner of Keith’s mouth.

Keith grunted and wiggled impatiently. “Absolutely not. I’ve waited months and months already. Stop talking.”

Lance chuckled and gave the hair tangled in his fingers two playful tugs before pulling Keith towards him and kissing him quiet.

In the privacy of their small cottage, away from the prying eyes of the Magerium, Lance kissed Keith until the sun was settled above the trees and their lips were swollen red. And even still they didn’t leave the sanctuary of their room as Lance dozed to Keith’s gentle claws combing through his hair. The lost night of sleep weighed heavily on his lids and Keith’s warmth only served to lull him into a light doze, though now and then he’d be pulled out of it by the press of Keith’s lips.

After some indeterminate amount of time, Keith’s hot breath ghosted over Lance’s ear, voice laced with amusement. “You going to stay in bed all day, lazy little water mage?”

Lance buried himself deeper into Keith’s neck, letting the dark strands splayed between them tickle his nose. “But it's warm here,” he mumbled. 

Keith chuckled. “It’s warm anywhere I go. But Parsnip needs to eat and so do you. A quarter-candle, I promise, and you can sleep while I’m gone. Okay?”

“No.” Lance shook his head and pulled Keith closer. “Take me with you.”

Groaning, Keith nuzzled into the hollow of Lance’s neck. “You are absolutely going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”

“More like the other way around.” Lance didn’t move. 

“...I’m going to kill you by trying to keep you - and your stupid rabbit - alive?”

Lance sighed. For as passionate as Keith was, he sure could be dense when it came to poetic metaphor. “If it’s for Parsnip then...you promise only a quarter mark?” 

“A quarter-quarter mark. I’ll just chuck the carrots at her and run.”

"Fine." Lance chuckled at the image of Keith lobbing vegetables at their poor bunny. Kissing Keith's jaw where it curved, he muttered into the scruff, "Hurry back to me." 

“Mmm,” Keith agreed. “How about a kiss for the road?”

Following the curve of his jaw, Lance sprinkled kisses up to Keith's perfect mouth. 

“And now one for good luck.”

Lance kissed his nose. 

“And one to keep in my pocket in case of emergencies.”

"You don't have pockets." Lance kissed him anyway. "You're worse than me." 

Keith shrugged and grinned, but leaned in and stole another. “Oh,” he mumbled against Lance’s lips, “and Lance?”

"Mm?" He hummed sleepily. 

“I love you too.”

"Oh, stars." He collapsed on top of Keith, hiding his blush in the wool of his shirt, which did nothing to muffle Keith’s laughter. 

~🍄~

Whenever a storm hit the seashore in Metrella, the remnants of it could be seen for days. Lance and his siblings had spent plenty of time picking up pieces of battered wood from broken pilings, or sweeping away the fronds ripped from the bushes and trees. Even the shoreline was changed, with new rocky pools playing host to new creatures, and an abundance of new shells littering the sand. 

These sudden, violent shifts in nature were forces for change, and he’d grown accustomed to knowing that a particular tide pool he loved one day may very well not be there the next. That was the way it all worked. Lumi and Nelare and I’kir and Ioche - all the sisters who governed the fragile balance of things - were constantly ripping the world apart just to shape it anew.

So it was more than strange to realize that, despite his confession, nothing had changed. This, the most massive upheaval Lance had ever experienced in his life, left absolutely no debris. 

Their cottage was quiet. The stream babbled outside. He could even hear the creak of the wind in the trees if he tried. Just the way it always was.

The only difference was the unbridled happiness he felt thrumming along their bond as Keith made breakfast downstairs. 

Lance padded down, pausing on the last step just to watch Keith bustle about with salt meat and eggs. There was even a basket of wild mushrooms that Lance didn’t remember picking, cleaned and ready to be roasted. Keith was nothing if not efficient, that was for sure. Lance hadn’t even heard him leave the cottage. 

He watched Keith pause with an egg in his claws, then lift his head to sniff at the air. He was already smiling before he turned to meet eyes with Lance. 

“You really couldn’t wait in bed long enough for me to cook? And they say I’m stubborn.”

Lance startled, jumping back a step to hide. Stupid; he was acting as if he was an acolyte being caught sneaking around the Magerium after curfew. Cheeks burning and heart racing, he took a deep breath and entered the room. “It got cold.”

Keith laughed - or really, it was more of a _giggle_ \- and looked almost shy.

“Guess I wasn’t doing very well with the fireplace. Come over here, then.”

Shuffling forward, Lance hesitated before pressing himself to Keith’s back. He hadn’t quite been lying; he was freezing. The heat from Keith melted into his stiff fingers and he sighed, resting his cheek against his tunic.

After cracking the egg he’d been holding into the pan, Keith wiped his hand on a cloth and reached behind, drawing Lance’s arms around his middle. “You don’t have to find excuses,” he said quietly. “You can...ah...touch me. Whenever you want.”

Lance’s grip tightened. There was no way he was going to let Keith turn around. He was probably a blushing mess and the thought of meeting Keith’s eyes like that made his breath hitch. 

It was unfair the world shouldn’t be as shaken by this as he was. It made him want to kick over the kettle or knock over the table - anything that would make the outside look the way his insides felt.

Keith’s hand covered his and he rubbed his thumb over it soothingly. “Your hands really are colder than normal. If you get sick from staying up all night, I’m going to be very mad at you. You better eat every bite of this and drink all of your tea before you go back to sleep, alright? Every drop.”

“Mm,” Lance agreed easily. There wasn’t anything to disagree with, especially if it meant he got to stay there. He did, however, quirk a secret smile at how much of a mother hen Keith could be when it came to Lance’s health. “After I nap, I’ll join you in the garden.”

“You’d better,” Keith muttered. “Last time I was the one who fed the rabbit, it bit me.”

“You probably deserved it.”

“Say that again and I’ll bite _you_.”

As promised, Lance did eat all of his breakfast, and was more or less content to be sent back to bed. Much as he would have liked to stay by Keith’s side, being awake for so long had made him fuzzy and sluggish. He would have been more of a hindrance than a help in the garden in that state. 

When he did wake up and rejoin Keith, the sun was creeping down to be level with the canopy, casting the Deepmist in warm, autumnal shades of red and gold. Keith had gone through and pruned everything as he’d been taught, and was seated a little ways down from their garden by the creek that fed them most of their fresh water. Beside him was a stack of new bricks made from river mud, which meant he was probably beginning work on the small kiln Lance had requested. 

It was dumb, he had no reason to, but as soon as Keith turned to place a new brick, Lance ducked. The long stalks of their miniature corn field hid him well enough, he hoped. From between the thick green, he watched Keith carefully pack and shape the mud. Even in this dull task, Keith seemed to glow. It was a wonder no one else could see how enchanting he truly was.

Shining horns and golden eyes, wings like fire and tail like a flame, there wasn’t a single person nor familiar that could compete.

“Beautiful,” Lance whispered to the corn. 

He’d apparently caught Keith at the end of a stack, since he stood and hefted the pile into his arms once he’d finished blowing on the last one to fire it. That gave him very little time to pretend he hadn’t been actively ogling Keith through their vegetables. 

Lance fell on his ass and scrambled back toward the potatoes like a crab. His hand caught in a straw basket, which slipped from under him so that he crashed hard onto his back. _Perfect._ He snatched the naughty basket and pushed himself back into the corn in one lunge just as Keith walked by. 

“Hey,” he squeaked, trying to casually wrestle an ear off the stalk. “G’morning.”

“Um.” Keith looked him over, puzzled. “Hi. Why are you fighting with our corn?”

“To...pick it?” Lance cleared his throat. “It doesn’t seem finished yet, though.”

“So it seems.” 

They both shuffled around for a moment in awkward silence, before Keith adjusted the bricks into one arm so he could reach forward. “You’ve, ah, got cornsilk all in your hair.”

“Oh?” Lance tried to look at it, but of course he couldn’t see it. “It’s because I was in the corn.”

“Definitely seems logical,” Keith offered, before running a tentative hand through Lance’s hair. At first, his touch was perfunctory, ruffling through the waves of brown to free the silk. The last two passes, though, seemed awfully tender to just be ridding Lance of his unwanted fashion accessory, especially when Keith’s thumb ran a loving circle over Lance’s cheekbone and his eyes glazed over.

“Is it gone?” Lance practically whispered, half scared that Keith would stop.

Keith did not stop. Rather, he cupped Lance’s cheek completely and let his thumb travel down to the corner of his lips. “Is what gone?”

The pad of Keith’s thumb traced the bottom of his lip and back. Lance couldn’t breathe, or didn’t want to, he wasn’t sure which. Mouth falling slightly open, he licked just as Keith’s thumb passed by. His nail was sharp but didn’t cut.

Lance swallowed as he leaned closer, basket falling from his hand. It felt like Keith was pulling him in, but it’d felt that way since their bond was mended. “I don’t remember.”

Keith groaned from somewhere deep in his throat. “You can’t do that. I can’t hold back if you do that, and there’s so much I need to get done…”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Maybe not on purpose…”

"But I can do something...if you want me too." Lance covered Keith's hand with his own and kissed the palm.

Two very loud things happened at the exact same time: Keith dropped the entire bundle of bricks to the ground as a sudden crack of thunder sounded overhead. The collective crash startled Keith so badly that his wings shot up and he pulled Lance protectively close. 

Fat, freezing rain drops fell on Lance’s head and then his hand. As more and more fell, they speckled the soil around them with dark spots. 

Lance blinked up at the storm breaking overhead. It was unusually sudden, but there didn't seem to be any mana in the air. "I think it's a real one."

“Ew,” Keith complained as he was hit in the cheek with a drop, followed by, “Ew, ew, fuck, cold, ew. Real as - shit - as in, not made by Caleb?”

"That's the kind." Lance tugged on Keith, trying not to laugh at his misfortune. "Come on, let’s get you inside before you turn into a Southern Blue dragon." 

Lance didn’t have to tell him twice. If there was one thing his dragon loathed above all else, it was getting wet, and doing so unexpectedly made him especially ornery. 

"Hey!" he called, but Keith was already through the threshold by the time the sky flashed and the next rumble of thunder sounded.

Lance was left trudging through the muddy garden alone. The rain slapped against his skin before crystallizing into snowflakes and fluttering behind him. By the time he'd squelched and shivered his way to the cottage, he was soaked to the bone. 

"I hope you enjoy being dry." 

“I do,” Keith agreed. “And isn’t it handy that you’re a water mage bonded to a fire mage? We’re especially good at evaporation.”

Lance pouted, knees clacking together as he chattered. “If you’re so good at it why did you leave me to fend for myself?”

Keith gave him a sly grin. “Because. Now I get to make the fire all big and cozy, and we can cuddle in front of it to get you warm again.”

“Liar.” With stiff fingers, Lance unlaced his tunic and let it slap to the floor, but when he got to his tights, the knot refused to cooperate. 

“Here,” Keith offered. “Let me.”

He knelt down beside Lance without waiting for his answer, gently guiding Lance’s foot to rest on his thigh. At first, Keith’s focus was on the stubborn knot and using his claws to gingerly pick it apart without ripping it. Once it was loosened, though, his attention wandered from the ties to the skin it revealed, all the way up to Lance’s eyes. His gaze was hooded and dark, wide pupils taking over the normally bright gold, and his next words came wrenched from a rusty throat. 

“There...better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lance said, but didn’t move. Keith’s fingers were almost scalding on his skin and it took all his concentration not to shiver. 

Keith nodded, bending low to kiss Lance’s ankle as he guided his foot back to the floor. It was a fleeting, barely-there touch of lips that still embered like a brand after he’d let go. “What else can I do?”

Lance swallowed. “The other. I can’t seem to…” Partially exposed and hypersensitive to Keith’s every movement, he didn’t dare let himself dwell on the layers of implications, of what they were doing or where it would lead. 

“Allow me.” Keith patted his thigh in invitation.

Carefully, Lance placed his other foot on Keith’s knee. Waterlogged and already mostly undone, the tight slumped down to his calf before Keith could even touch it. 

Keith hooked his claws into the knot, smirking up at Lance as he lowered it down all the way. “You’re right. This stubborn thing just won’t come off, will it.”

Lance tucked a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear and ran his fingers across his cheek. “Not if you don’t use your hands.” 

A full-body shudder rocked its way down Keith’s spine all the way to his tail, which slapped lightly against the floor. He didn’t reply, but he did wrap a hand around Lance’s calf to guide his leg up, freeing it from his tight. Instead of letting go, he leaned forward, nuzzling the side of his face against Lance’s leg like a cat along a doorframe. 

Keith almost seemed in pain. Worry overcame his own stirring feelings. Still caressing his cheek, Lance whispered, “Are you okay?” 

Some kind of guttural sound was his reply. Keith slid his palms up the side of Lance’s legs worshipfully, then stood and hoisted Lance into his arms, burrowing into the damp space where his ear met his neck. 

“You,” he rasped, “are so. _Beautiful_.”

Lance automatically wrapped his legs around Keith's waist. Everything was so surreal and overwhelming, all he could do was let himself be held. It all seemed impossible, from the Letter of Nine to Keith holding him half naked in the privacy of their cottage. 

A few smooth scales he’d never seen passed through Keith’s human form and speckled along his cheeks. They shimmered in the firelight with an iridescent glow that cast motes of light against Lance’s skin. 

"Not nearly half as much as you.”

The response pulled a growl from Keith that had him gritting his teeth and carrying them both over to the hearth. With all the sinuous grace afforded to a high magic dragon, he knelt and laid Lance on the faded rug, warmed by the fire. When Keith pulled back to look at him, it was with eyes so intense, Lance couldn’t tell if the emotion making them shine was love or something closer to agony. 

He got his answer when Keith crawled over him, silhouetting himself with firelight and rasping a reverent, “I love you.” 

The deep vibrations of Keith’s voice rumbled like thunder through his body and struck his heart like lighting. A storm of emotions equal to the torrent outside their walls ripped through him and it was all that he could do to keep from losing himself. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt me.” He couldn’t see anything except Keith. The world disappeared and it was only them. Here in their living room, there were no kings and no Magerium Elders and no superstitious villagers pointing their fingers and whispering behind their hands. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to realise, that I made you w-”

He was cut off by Keith surging against him, swallowing his apologies with insistent lips and teeth and tongue. His tail wrapped around Lance’s wrist and trapped it above his head. Under his fingers, he could feel the rough keratin of more scales emerging from Keith’s skin. 

Lance gasped. This. Keith. All if it was what he'd been craving. Gentle claws against his skin and careful fangs tugging on his lips had all been mere shadows in his mind until now. Here they were real and sweet as they coaxed Lance along with a promise of pleasure. 

He arched up into Keith, wanting every part of them to touch. No, he _needed_ it, more than I’kir's air in his lungs. Keith was the one breathing life into him, and Lance was sure he'd die if Keith stopped. 

Keith’s touch was always hot, but now it practically seared him wherever they were connected. Even the bond felt alight with something unusually fierce, a rush of gold like magma that boiled over from Keith’s internal pool into Lance. It was all-consuming and perfect and so much, so _much,_ that he wasn’t sure where they - 

He heard some kind of metallic sound, like a dagger being drawn from its sheath. Immediately, their bond was shot through with something that definitely hadn’t been there before: fear. 

Keith’s heat disappeared. Disoriented and still caught up in his own emotions, Lance looked around, confused. 

“What?” Had the Magerium sent someone? There was no way; they were long forgotten. 

Above him, Keith was taking in shuddery breaths that made the air ripple with heat. “Sorry - sorry, I just - let me -” 

Nothing in all their time together had ever scared Keith so acutely. The cottage was empty, though - no mercenary or Magerium assassin in sight. “What happened; are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith snapped, quick and sharp. Then, a little gentler, “Sorry, I’m fine. I just, um, need a second. To breathe.”

Lance tried to sit up, but his wrist was still caught in Keith’s tail. And, _oh_ , that explained the metallic sound. The tail was covered in spikes that had never been there before. Could it have been because...Lance…

He blushed. Hard. 

_Oh stars,_ had kissing him made Keith _sprout spikes_? No wonder he was scared. 

“It’s okay.” He carefully tugged his wrist from its spiky enclosure. “You didn’t hurt me, see?” 

Keith’s eyes were fixed firmly on his own tail, however - glaring at it as if he could force the new spines to go away through sheer force of will. Apparently, doing so took all of his concentration, because Lance could feel everything Keith was feeling with no filter at all. Besides the fear, there was also a healthy dose of shame and embarrassment, all of which was blanketing the intense, driving _want_ that Keith was actively ignoring. 

Slowly, like approaching a wild animal, Lance slid his hand to bump into Keith’s. After all, they were both new to all of this. It was probably just as overwhelming for Keith as it was for him. 

“Hey, Chimney, stop that. We don’t have to do…we can take our time.”

A few moments of patient silence later and Keith’s breathing began to even out; A few moments beyond that, the spines slowly sheathed back into Keith’s tail. Keith glanced at him sidelong, then just as quickly averted his gaze back to the rug. “I’m sorry. I...I didn’t know that would happen.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I, um, enjoyed it.” He creeped his fingers even closer, nudging them into the spaces between Keith’s.

At that admission, Keith actually met his eyes. “You did?”

Not letting go of Keith’s hand, Lance hugged his knees to his chest and hid his face in them, nodding. “I like kissing you. Spikes don’t impede that.”

Keith scoffed. “That’s a lot different than almost getting _impaled_ just because - because I - whatever in all hells _that_ was.”

There were thousands of words Lance could think of to describe what had just happened and none of them correlated to the static of fear and shame that radiated off Keith. Peeking out from his hiding hole, Lance watched the fire’s reflection dance off Keith’s sagging wings. “You’re not holding back because of me, are you?”

He felt the roil of emotion from Keith as a queasy turning in his stomach. “...No. Not...not entirely.”

Lance eyed him as he picked apart Keith’s turmoil through their bond. In the end, though, it was all raw emotions without context. All that he could really tell was that Keith was nervous despite wanting this as badly as Lance did.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember that Keith, a creature crafted by the goddess Nelare herself with mana reserves that reached his absolute core, was also barely an adult. Just like Lance.

Mage of the king and the only known High Magic familiar in generations, and they were both just fumbling along, trying their best. 

And the best he could do right then was to comfort his anxious red bundle of a soulbound. 

Lance drew their entwined hands to his lips and kissed Keith’s trembling fingers, smiling up at him as he did.

“It’s alright to be nervous. But you don’t - you _couldn’t_ \- frighten me. You don’t have to apologize for being yourself, whatever surprises that brings. And anyway, there’s no need to rush anything. We aren’t on anyone’s time but our own.”

Keith exhaled, shaky and sudden, then drew his wings in and bent forward to wrap his arms around Lance, tucking himself into a hug. At once, Lance was transported to the night Keith had almost roasted him alive while having a nightmare, and how Lance had rocked him back to sleep on the bare stone floor of their tiny dormitory room. It had been the first time Keith had sought him out for comfort, and though by now they were practically different people from who they had been that night, Lance counted it as no less of a privilege to still be the one who got to hold him through his fear. 

He squeezed for all he was worth and peppered soft kisses in the dark mass of Keith’s hair. 

Eventually, the nerves subsided from the bond, leaving Keith slumped and tired in his arms. 

“If it counts,” Keith offered, muffled though it was from being pressed to Lance’s heart. “I enjoyed kissing you too. Obviously.”

Giddy joy escaped his grasp and bubbled through the bond. Lance couldn’t help it; Keith thought he was a good kisser. Or, well, liked it enough to say something. 

Kissing and everything that came along with it wasn’t something Lance had put a lot of time into thinking about before Keith had entered his life. But now, it was all he could think about. It wasn’t like he had anything else to occupy his time, and chores were a poor distraction. Especially when Keith looked so good doing them. 

“You can kiss me as much as you like,” Lance said, mimicking Keith’s earlier sentiment. 

Keith snorted, leaving twin smudges of soot on Lance’s skin, before pulling back to smirk at him. “Believe me, I’m counting on it.”

~🍄~

The next morning dawned cold and clear, and would have been the kind that was perfect for bundling up and enjoying a cup of tea, if not for the obnoxious tapping sound.

Lance buried his head under Keith’s wing and sighed when it wrapped around him. Stupid bog frogs with Elder Greeve’s head, always throwing pebbles at him. 

When the tapping came again, Keith pulled his wings over them both, knocking Lance from his dream - er, nightmare. Any dream about Greeve was a bad dream, but hundreds of bog frogs with his face definitely went into the nightmare category. 

The third time the tapping came, Lance didn’t have time to react before Keith growled and threw the coverlet off. 

“What in nine hells,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“Not on the second story window.” Lance sat up, blinking into the early dawn. Without Keith or the coverlet, it was much too cold. He tucked his knees under his sleeping shirt.

“Stupid fucking squirrels keep trying to bury th-hey!” 

Keith was already by the window when the tapping sounded again. He yanked it open mid-tap, startling the culprit into the room. It flapped frantically around their ceiling, shedding downy feathers in Lance’s hair. 

Lance watched the pigeon panic, and it evidently did not care for having an audience. As soon as he locked eyes with the bird, it swooped down right for his head. Lance yelped, ducking between his hands, but his legs were still tangled in his shirt and it sent him crashing into the mattress. The pigeon tugged at his curls, yanking strands of hair out with each frantic pull.

It’s preoccupation with Lance allowed Keith to snag it between both hands and throw it out the window. It fluttered out in a flurry of angry cooing and ruffled feathers. 

Keith slammed the window shut and latched it, turning to Lance with wide eyes. 

“...Why do these things keep happening to us?” he asked rhetorically. 

Lance slowly unballed and peeked between his arms. “I don’t know. I mean, I _am_ cursed and exiled. Maybe the Goddesses are trying to punish me with woodland creatures now.”

“You’re not cursed.” Keith frowned, taking a step forward. “We’ve been over this. ‘Star Cursed’ is just a stupid way of -”

He was interrupted by the crinkle of parchment under his foot. He lifted it up to reveal a tightly coiled scroll, sealed with a sloppy dollop of wax.

“Oh. I guess it wasn’t just here to be annoying.” He handed it over. 

He broke the seal and unfolded it to a page of ink scratches. The only thing he could make out was Oriax’s elegant signature next to a scribble. Lance groaned. 

“Of course Anny’s messenger bird would attack people. Seems normal for her.” He turned it upside down and then right side up; At least, he thought that was what he was doing. It didn’t matter what way he turned it, the hasty writing was illegible. “It’s probably for you anyways.” He handed it back and stood, stretching. 

Keith accepted it and peered at the strange hatch marks that passed for writing. “Uh. She says that she and Ori are headed to see us in order to give Shiro, and I’m quoting here, ‘the old what-for.’”

“I don’t know what that means, but sounds like Shiro pissed her off.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what that means.” Keith turned the scroll over, checking the opposite side for more. “...Sounds like Shiro hasn’t contacted her, either.”

The crease of worry that formed between Keith’s eyebrows made Lance pause. Of course Keith was worried about Shiro. The lack of word from him had been a subject they’d mostly sidestepped for weeks, and this letter certainly didn’t help assuage his fears.

“Maybe she knows Shiro is on his way here and she ruined the surprise because she’s been chasing him all over Belwald.” Lance slid around the bed to take Keith’s hand. “We could make them a big dinner and have a family party. We could even tell them...” 

Keith perked up at that, lifting his wings and tail in a way that made him look like a curious cat. “Really? You’d...want to do that?”

“It'd be easier with them all together.” Lance shrugged. “Plus, I told you, we’re in this together and Shiro is bound to notice that your collar is gone eventually. We might as well tell them ourselves on our own terms.”

His face was cupped between Keith’s palms before he’d even finished speaking. Keith kissed him, sweet and lingering, before kissing the tip of his nose. 

“Thank you. That would make me really happy.”

"Me too." Lance stepped back, pulling Keith with him. "Now let's worry about your family later. We have at least a half-mark before we have to be up, and I wasn’t done holding you.”

Keith grinned and gave him a playful little half-bow. “By your command, Master-mine.”

~🍄~

What followed was three days of Keith constantly looking over his shoulder and perking at every sound. Still there was no Shiro or Adam. 

The sun was setting on the fourth day when Lance began to worry. Not that he'd let Keith know. 

"Stop that." He tapped Keith's plate. "Dinner first, then stew in your anxiety." 

Keith scowled at the shredded pile he’d made of his roasted sprouts. “I’m not anxious.”

"You can lie to yourself but you can't lie to me." 

The sprout Keith tossed his way bounced off the table and landed somewhere on the floor.

"Don't throw dinner,” he admonished with no bite to it. He had no idea how to comfort Keith...

“It’s just…” Keith sighed. “It’s been almost two moons since we had any word.”

...For exactly that reason. There wasn't anything he _could_ say that would be of comfort. "I know, but we-" 

They were interrupted by a loud _whoosh_ , followed by the door slamming open. 

Immediately, Keith was on all fours, snarling and shifting into his primal form. His claws and snout had already elongated by the time they both registered what they were looking at.

Annalys, leaves caught all in her curls, was cussing at her boots as she toed them off on the reed mat by the door. “Infernal, cursed, awful, _damp_ -”

“Anny?”

Keith straightened and drew his features back to humanoid, looking Annalys over with a mixture of irritation, trepidation, and veiled delight. 

“Hullo, little lizard,” she grinned from the threshold. “I’d say I’m sorry for _dropping in_ , like, but I’ve got _words_ for your broodmaster and-”

Her incomplete sentence was punctuated by Lance’s fork clattering to his plate. With all the poise in the world and doing his best to keep his frustration tucked away, he motioned to the table. “Anny, Oriax, welcome. We should have some supper leftover if you’re hungry.”

Oriax paused where he was finagling his wings through the door and gave an awkward half-bow. “Master Mage. We apologize for the intrusion.”

“Do you?” Keith scoffed. 

“Mostly.” Annalys crossed her arms over her chest. “Now where is that King’s Mage? I’m here to share my mind with him. These ‘errands’ we’ve been doing on his behalf are getting out of hand.”

“Shiro isn’t here...um, yet.” Lance shared a look with Keith. “You two arrived first.”

Annalys glowered at them, clucking her tongue in irritation. “Like as not, he knew I had a sackful of things to say and took a detour.”

“Actually…” Keith tore his gaze from Lance, but not before Lance caught the flash of genuine fear trickling through their bond and into the gold of his eyes. “I haven’t heard from Shiro in nearly two full moons.”

It was Annalys and Oriax’s turn to exchange a worried glance. Immediately, Anny’s demeanor changed and she let her arms fall to her sides, brows pinching with worry. 

“That’s about when we lost contact, too,” Oriax said carefully. 

Lance looked between all three of them, but most of his focus was on the turbulent emotions rolling off of Keith.

“Shiro is King’s Mage,” he offered carefully. “The most powerful sorcerer the Magerium has ever known. I’m sure he’s fine. If he wasn’t, Keith would’ve felt it.”

Keith’s fingers absently trailed over the pale, bare stripe of skin around his neck where his collar had been. His lips pressed into a tight line as he peered at the floor. 

“‘Alive’ is not the same as ‘fine,’” Anny mumbled, but one look at Keith and her tone became brighter. “But Little Lord Lilypad is right. If any two can handle a tight spot, it’s the King’s Mage and Kitty Supreme.”

“Shiro’s gotten through raising you,” Oriax said as he meticulously picked leaves from his feathers. “Whatever is keeping him can’t be nearly as troublesome.”

Keith huffed, but he seemed at least a little mollified, if not reassured. “You’ve got a lot of nerve crashing through my door unannounced and then having the balls to insult me, featherbreath.”

“ _My_ door, is it?” Anny teased. “Well aren’t we high and mighty these days.”

“It’s just as much his door as it is mine.” Lance stood from the table, chin held higher than he felt. “He did, after all, accept my Letter of Nine.”

There was one single breath of silence before the cabin filled with excited shrieking.

Anny threw herself across the room, dragging Lance and Keith into the most rambunctious, painful group hug in the history of Belwald. 

“Ori!” she chirped over her shoulder. “You hear that? Our little lizard got his wish! Pay up!”

"You placed a _bet?_ I trusted you for advice and you turned it into a bet!" 

Annalys arched a brow and smirked at Lance. “Oh, no - we made that bet about Keith the moment we saw the pretty pair of legs who summoned him.”

“L-leg? Who- my legs?” Lance stared at Keith and then down at his legs.

Keith’s tail smacked her on the back, but she simply laughed. 

“In any case,” Oriax cut in smoothly, turning to Lance and holding out his feathered hand, “Congratulations on joining our ranks, I suppose.”

Join their ranks? Oh stars, no. He wasn’t like them. He’d never been like any of them, not before in the Magerium and not now. He’d always been and would forever be _other_. 

In the middle of his panicked confusion, elation zipped through the bond. Lance couldn’t help turning to the source who flicked his wings in excitement. It melted right through all of his anxiety. 

So Lance took Oriax’s hand. If nothing else, he did it to keep that happy sparkle of red in their bond shimmering for a little while longer. “Are there even others besides yourselves and the King’s mage?”

“Quite a few, I’m sure,” Oriax shrugged. “I can’t imagine, in a system where sharing a soul with someone is common practice, that we’re the only ones to fall in love.”

Lance had...never thought about it like that. 

The bond was a tool, a way to share mana so that he could be a better mage...and for what? The Magerium? 

“Oh.” 

The Magerium didn’t even want him. Had tried to reject him at nearly every turn, despite how hard he worked to please them and fit within their boundaries. 

Letting go of Oriax’s hand, he stepped back as they chatted so that he could press into Keith. The room buzzed with noise as his mind raced. Of course it was natural; it was so obvious now that it’d been pointed out. Lance counted his breaths as he wrapped himself in the honey glow of the bond.

“...Isn’t that right, Master?” Keith’s voice pierced his preoccupation as he elbowed Lance lightly in the side.

“Hm? Yeah, yes?” Lance was still lost in his head and trying to find his way back to the conversation through visual cues alone. 

Keith eyed him in amusement. “Welcome back. I just said we would be happy to make them a fresh pot of that _delicious_ terraroot tea you love so much.”

“Nine hells, don’t you dare. You’ll kill them before they’ve had dinner.” Lance pushed everything down to focus on their guests. “Have you eaten? I’ll make some King’s blend.”

“At least your Master has some manners.” Annalys flicked the tip of Keith’s nose, earning her another slap with his tail. 

Despite her slight, Keith did a fine job of throwing together a decent meal for them both. He’d come a long way as a vegetable chef since their picnic in the Tower garden and his adorable attempt at a salad. It may not have been the rich food of Highmount, but after days of travel, even roasted roots were enticing to their guests. 

Lance knew this to be so, because he’d never seen someone eat an entire radish without chewing. Or maybe that actually meant Anny hated it, because he wasn’t sure if she’d tasted any of her food.

The conversation flowed despite the dark undertone that ran through the entire house. Shiro’s absence permeated every tight smile and stiff laugh. Lance could see it in the dark circles of Keith’s eyes and the lines between Annalys’ brows. Even Oriax jumped at every one of her touches and Lance didn’t think he’d ever seen the strix do that. Their touches had always been so effortless.

Not...that he’d been looking.

While Anny and Ori unfolded their bedrolls in front of the fire, Keith sidled up next to Lance with an armful of dishes. 

He smiled, but his low voice was tense and pitched for privacy. “Can we talk?”

Lance smiled back, or at least he hoped it was a smile. A nice easy one that said, ‘everything is fine’. “Of course. What exactly about?” 

Had Keith felt his troubled thoughts earlier? _Please, anything besides that._ He wasn’t ready to talk about the dueling emotions he’d felt over Oriax’s warm welcome.

Keith glanced back over his shoulder. “We’re going to feed the rabbit. You two settled?”

Anny yawned and waved him off. “Have no fear, little sprout. If we’ve a need for anything, we’re happy to raid your larder for ourselves, _cha_?”

Wrinkling his nose, Keith dumped the dishes in the basin. “ _Little sprout,_ ” he grumbled to Lance. “She’s not even five years older than me.”

“But you’ll never catch up!” she giggled as she tucked herself into a downy tuft of chest feathers. 

Oriax nodded at Lance. “Sleep well, master mage.”

“Good night. May the stars guard your sleep.” Lance nodded back.

Keith shook his head, then wrapped his hand around Lance’s wrist and tugged him into the cold mist of night. 

He didn’t speak until they were standing by their front gate, a very different location from the rabbit warren nestled right up against their cottage. Despite his internal heat, Keith’s breath still coalesced into vapor between them as he looked back at the glow of their cabin windows.

_Here it came._

“They don’t smell right.”

Out of everything Lance expected, this wasn’t even on the list. “Wait, what? They don’t - You mean Anny and Ori?”

“Of course I mean Anny and Ori. What did you think I meant? The chrysanthemums?”

“Could have meant the sprouts,” Lance mumbled. “They smelled fine to me. I mean they were a bit musty, but nothing a bath couldn’t wash off.”

“Wh-no, I don’t mean they _stink,_ I mean they-“ Keith broke off with a frustrated wave at the cottage. “They don’t _smell_ like they usually do. In a dragon way. They smell... _heavy_. Darker. Like...like iron and rotting logs.” He hugged his chest and looked up at Lance, his face taut with worry. “It’s really strange.”

“Well,” Lance said slowly, picking each word carefully, “Maybe it’s just their worry you smell. I’m sure they’re both worried about Shiro and Adam, even if they can handle themselves.”

“You keep saying that!” Keith snapped. “I’m not an idiot and I’m not a child. Something isn’t right, and I don’t need you to try and pretend that it isn’t.”

Lance took a step back. Despite there not being any real anger behind it, Keith was still a dragon and wrath was terrifying on him. The bond, however, belied every word for what it was: fear. 

“I’m not treating you like a child. If you were a child, I’d tell you everything is fine. Instead, I’m telling you that whatever is going on, Shiro is strong enough to handle it. And - and that I’m here, if you need me.”

Keith’s shoulders slumped. “Of course I need you. That’s why I dragged you out here. I’m just…”

“Scared?” 

Mutely, Keith nodded at the grass. 

Lance took his hand and tugged him into a hug. “It doesn’t matter how anyone smells or how long Shiro doesn’t write, we’ll figure this out together. You're my starbound now.”

The fear in the bond didn’t go away, but it was joined by a surge of affection as Keith nuzzled into his neck. 

“You never did explain what that means. Is it like _ayuravadjek_?”

“I don’t think so.” Lance stroked Keith’s hair out of its braid, running his fingers through the silky strands. “It’s because you accepted the Letter of Nine; we’re starbound now by the Goddesses themselves. I know you don’t believe, but it means that someday Mairo will join us together by blessing us with our own hearth.”

Keith pulled back far enough to peer at him with the one eye not obscured by wavy bangs. “We already have a fireplace. What’s the difference?”

“A _fireplace_ , not a marriage hearth.”

The sharp points of Keith’s foremost fangs glinted as he grinned. “A marriage hearth, huh?”

It probably wasn’t the time, but Lance couldn’t help it. “I was hoping we could dedicate it to Hoile. I know my parents have Lumi and yours have Ioche because of Adam, but I’ve always loved Hoile best. Of course, if you’d like one of the other Goddesses as our patron-” 

Keith cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Whatever means the most to you is what I want, too.” 

Lance kissed the tip of it. “You spoil me. Thank you.” 

“Hardly. Dragged you out here in the cold just because something smelled off. You’re probably freezing.”

“Can’t be with you around.” He was, and he desperately wanted to sleep, but Keith was more important than both those things. “After a good night’s rest, we can all decide what to do about Shiro.”

Keith nodded, burying back into Lance’s neck long enough to kiss the fabric of his tunic where it sat above his collarbone. “Go inside. I’ll finish up and join you soon.”

Lance didn’t leave without a kiss that he made last as long as the autumn night would allow. He left Parsnip to Keith as he tiptoed through their cottage and upstairs, careful not to wake their guests. 

The moon shone silver through the night mist, turning the air into suspended crystals of light. They sparkled above Lance’s head as he lay down. Tonight’s dreams, if he was lucky, would be full of stolen kisses and the carving of marriage hearths.

~🍄~

17 Years Ago, the seaside village of Metrella

After four days of pulsing storms, the kind that thrashed boats against the rocks and revealed layers of sand that hadn’t seen sunlight in decades, the sun shone clear and watery in the sky. The soft caw of gulls accompanying the rhythmic ding of a buoy drew the two younger Fuentes boys out of the house before their sister could catch them and rope them into chores. Their oldest brother was already on the boat with their father to check the nets and assess the damage, and after being stuck inside for more candlemarks than they could count, the last thing they wanted to do was help Veronica with laundry. 

Marco tugged him along at first, but when Lance’s little legs couldn’t keep up, Marco hefted him into his arms as they trudged up the sloping grass that led away from the village. The waxy myrtle trees gave way to sparser pines, the wood bleached white by sun and wind. 

It was their favorite place to play besides the ocean front, and after days of unending rain, the glen was saturated. Water welled up wherever they squelched their toes in the moss - just the way they liked it. 

“I get to be King, you can be my mage,” Marco commanded, already acting the part. He grabbed a stick and swung it in the air. “Fetch me my lunch.” 

Lance ducked, splashing all fours into the mud. “You always get to be king.” 

“That’s because I’m older. When you’re older than me, you can be king.” 

“Really?” Lance asked, perking up from his squatted stance like a happy toad. 

“Cross my heart and salt the sea.” Marco tapped the stick to his chest. “Now make me lunch.”

Lance let his butt drop and spread his legs so he could have full access to the mud. He scooped handfuls into a mound to shape. “Salt fish and brea-”

His pile of mud squished under Marco’s foot. “No. Salt fish is for peasants. Plus we had salt fish yesterday.”

“I like salt fish.”

“That’s because you’re a baby. A king eats pheasant.” 

Lance blinked up at his brother. Marco’s dark curls blew in the breeze, exactly like his mother’s thick ringlets. They almost fell to his shoulders. “What’s a fetz- fent- fennel fish?”

“It’s not a fish, dummy, it's a bird.”

Oh well, why hadn’t he said so? Lance knew what a bird was. He shoved Marco’s foot. “Then get off so I can make it.”

“ _Your Highness_ , don’t forget I’m king.”

“Get off, _my Highness_.”

Marco lifted his leg and stepped back, crossing his arms imperiously. “That’s better. Now bring me my pheasant and wine, Mage.”

Lance sighed, but only at Marco, not at the mud; he wasn’t actually sad to have the chance to play in it more. With eager hands, he scooped piles of it into balls. It wasn’t quite the perfect consistency for shaping, still a little too wet, but that was fine. Unlike his siblings, Lance never seemed to have trouble making it just the way he wanted.

He could feel the way it squished too much and then squished just right in his hands. Ha. Served Marco right for being mean. Who was the better king now?

It only took a few minutes for him to create a pile of pheasant mud-balls, especially since Marco had gotten bored and sat down half way through to help. Lance’s were much smaller, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get his tiny hands around anything bigger. Despite their small size, at least they were holding together well. Marco’s were sloppy and collapsing in on themselves, but he did manage to shape a few plates and even a wilting cup. 

“That’s enough, Mage. Feed me my pheasant.” 

Lance clapped the mud from his hands and giggled when it sprayed him in the face. They were instantly dirtied again as he stuck them back into the puddle to hoist himself up. 

Dutifully, he placed a few of the best mud balls on Marco’s plate. “Pheasant!”

Marco wrinkled his nose. “You overcooked it. Now I’ll be thirsty. More wine!”

The mud balls were perfect, not a bit lopsided. Lance pouted. “I made ‘em good.” 

“I said _more wine_!”

Pulling up fistfuls of moss, Lance sprinkled them in Marco’s sagging cup.

Shaking his curls, Marco scoffed and pushed it back, denting the side. “That’s not wine, that’s moss. You can’t drink moss. We need _real_ wine for a king’s feast. The best wine in Highmount!”

That wasn’t fair. The moss made perfectly good wine. Lance sighed and scooped some mud instead. Just as he was about to pour it in, Marco slapped his hands away.

“Not mud. _Wine.”_

Lance flicked his hands, spraying flecks of mud to cover up his freckles. “I don’t understand. It’s wine!”

“Real wine is red, not green or brown.” 

Blowing his bangs out of his eyes, Lance sat back. The ground wasn’t far, so it was easy to just fall into the moss. He wanted to cry, but last time they played King, Marco had made fun of him for crying. 

Still, a few tears slipped out despite his determination. There wasn’t any red _anything_ around them, not even flowers. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep his tears at bay. Something red to fill the cup. He needed to fill the cup. There was _nothing_ to fill the cup except dumb moss and mud and all this stupid **water**.

“Wh - _hey_!”

Marco’s surprised yell broke off into a shriek. Lance opened his eyes just as water spilled over the misshapen cup’s rim. It rose from the moss below their feet, bubbling from little fonts in the grass beneath them to spill down from higher ground. The water pooled in their small hollow until it was rising over Lance’s thighs and soaking Marco’s pants.

Marco began to cry. 

The deluge rose with Lance’s panic. He stood, desperate to do anything to help his big brother stop crying. Marco _never_ cried. That, more than anything else, is what frightened Lance. 

Water streamed from his breeches, dragging them down, and the mud sucked at his feet to hold him fast. “Marco,” Lance pleaded, holding out his hands to his brother as rain clouds cracked open above them. 

Marco tried to trudge his way over to Lance, reaching for him. He had to fight to pull himself out of the mud’s cement-like hold. The rain plastered his curls to his face and neck, making an even bigger mess of his grimy, tear-streaked face. Marco swiped his hair from his eyes and flailed his arm until he caught Lance by the wrist. 

“Allie! Come on!” he shouted over the din of the rain. “We gotta-!”

A chaotic surge of water burst from the trees above them, sweeping Marco off his feet and bringing Lance with him. 

Lance tried to cry out, but it was swallowed as he was sucked under.

Everything was water. The ground, the sky, the air he couldn’t breathe - all of it was swallowed up by the rush. Lance did his best to remember his father’s swimming lessons. He kicked his tiny legs and paddled his arms, but he had no idea where the surface was, and the current kept him somersaulting through suspended debris until he was completely disoriented. Now and then a bolt of lightning would flash, showing him which way was up, but he was too tired to do anything but try to hold on to what little air he had trapped in his lungs.

Lance wanted to scream, he wanted to find his brother, he wanted his mother to hold him and sing songs, but there was only the relentless flood.

_Thud._ His whole body slammed into something solid, something impossibly _not water._

With one last gurgling gasp that stole the last of his breath, everything went dark.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: I hope this was worth the wait, after 200-some-odd-thousand words of pining. They finally took that big old step into a brave new world of gay homesteading. Buutttt it won't be gay homesteading for much longer...  
> Enjoy your last taste of cottagecore. The world's about to get much bigger. 
> 
> Sail: i'm so excited for what's next a lot of big stuff in this book that's going to explain your questions from book 1 and finally some Lance backstory!!! please look forward to it!!


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